The Watchman
by Doormouse
Summary: Discombobulation Challange: It is not always about breaking the rules, sometimes it is about playing the game, and knowing the rules better than your opponent.
1. Chapter 1

**MOVIE BASED. That's because I can watch the movie as many times as I like to refresh the characters in my mind, whereas I can't with the cartoon. **

**Disclaimer: **I promise that I own none of the characters that you like, and I will return them unharmed when I'm done with them. They'll be a little scuffed but that'll buff right out.

**Note:**This is for Llewlyn's Discombobulation Challenge.

I'm gonna repost the rules, just in case someone has done themselves the disservice of NOT reading her amazing Beetlejuice stories k?

**Written for the Discombobulation Challenge devised by WitchyWanda and Llewlyn**

1. Can be written in cartoon or movie Beetleverse

2. Must _inconvenience_ BJ in some extreme way-- body switch him, strip him of his powers, send him to the Living, put him in a magic lamp-- be creative!

3. Any genre, any rating-- do something you are great at, or something you have never done before!.

Also. I'm undecided about how Betelgeuse/Beetlejuice should be spelled. So, though it's a horrid thing to do to you, until I decide I'll probably just flip-flop back and forth between the two spellings depending on my mood.

Monday, which is the 21st of August, my pen-name's gonna change...so thought I'd warn you all.

This is my first Beetlejuice fic, which should be obvious. But it's not my first fic, so you're welcome to go stalk me. Pleanty of people do. So hey to all the people who did stalk me and if you're going to review yelling at me for not updating I am sorry but most of you should be used to it by now. I really wanted to wait and build up a few chapters of this before I started posting but I was excited. It's a new fandom for me!

And I respond always to every review in the next chapter, so if you wonder about something or see a mistake feel free to tell me about it.

_**(Arg. What is up with Fanfiction? The line feature is STILL not working! So here is my vague attempt at a line.)**_

_**B**ound_. 

Just the sound sent an excited thrill up her spine. She'd thought it was good enough when he was tied to his name and no one could raise him without saying it. Three times no less! Still people _had _managed to raise him and chaos had ensued, causing much worrying on her part as well as piles of paperwork.

And it wasn't like she could trust anyone else around here with the forms that needed filling out. So she inevitably got stuck cleaning up all his messes, every time. _No matter that she warned these people. _She told them, he's no good, he doesn't work well with others, and still they know better and go and let him free.

But now...

She nearly giggled.

He was _Bound! _

She didn't even care to find out _what _he was bound to, it didn't matter because it was being left in the hands of the Deetzes and the Maitlands. There were two families who knew all too well what that _monster _was capable of. They would see to it he was well protected.

When she had first heard the news from Mable—in accounting—she had run to her office, scattering papers everywhere and knocking over a couple from New Jersey who had just come in after a Gas Leak in their home.

She ripped out her manual and flipped to the section on Binding, making sure it still meant what she thought.

Leave it to Be—_Him—_to get them to change the meaning before he was bound.

No. It was the same as it had been for centuries. His power, and everything that he was would be locked into something small, usually a trinket or a bauble. He could not be released except under special circumstances—a certain incantation usually—and there he would languish--

_here was the best part_

for the remainder of his sentence! And Betelg—_He—_had been given an Eternal Sentence. There was supposedly some stipulation, there always was. That wasn't nearly as frightening as it could be there were stipulations and loopholes in every law, hence how He had gotten so powerful, so wild, but in that prison of his he couldn't access the papers, the exact specifications of his Binding and so there. That was the end. The Great and Mighty Betelgeuse was trapped forever in some knick-knack! She did cackle at that.

She could say his name until she was blue in the face—she fingered the gash in her neck and deemed that a bad turn of phrase—but he wouldn't be free. She was still happy about that, he was trapped forever in some pretty bauble.

And even if he got out he had to obey whatever mortal held the watch and she knew, _knew_ that as bad as mortals could be, Betelgeuse was a thousand times worse. She was able to relax for the first time in over six hundred years.

_**(The line's still not working, this is really, really very annoying.)**_

It was actually sort of nondescript which was odd. She would have thought it should be dark, or menacing, or at least have a skull on it. It was none of those things. It was old, and heavy. The face was a little yellowed and the metal was tarnished to a dark color. There were four links at the end of the chain that looked newer, as though it had been lengthened some time ago.

It looked like something a Grandfather would have.

She shook it once, wondering if there was any outward sign of what power it held. Inside there was an erratic chime but that was all. She shook it with more force and all that happened was the chimes sounded louder.

It didn't tick.

When she attached the chain to the loop on her skirt, and tucked it into her pocket it was not on a whim. She was afraid that the people at her school would be too different and she would be an outsider, they would tease and taunt and god knows what they would do to her.

She had seen _Deliverance. _Sure the Maitlands were nice but these country people were insane, surely.

She kept the watch with her through that first week because it was a comfort. To know that she could release this _monster _into the world, and he would have to protect her, and he could save her from these awful people and whatever they did to her.

The people at school were nice though. Sure there were those who whispered and teased, but for the majority they were nice.

They made her smile and laugh and Grace even brought cookies she tried to cut into bat shapes. She wasn't very good though and they looked more potato shaped, but they tasted wonderfully and made her smile.

The power was unnecessary.

She tucked the watch into her jewelry box—a remnant of her mother—and it sat there gathering dust until she was going to college.

She took it with her because she didn't trust Delia with it, her father didn't need the stress...and she wanted to.

At this time in her life she had realized that there were scarier things out there than the ghosts she knew. Time and life had faded the memory of that night. She assured herself the snake wasn't _so _scary and that he _had _saved the Maitlands. He had done what she asked and it was her who had promised away something she didn't really want to give. She could have thought it out more but at the time she had been too scared, too worried, and too young most of all.

Her memory told her she just had to be clever with him and watch what she promised. And with him Bound to the watch there wasn't the previous worry.

Before he could _stop _you from saying his name, and that was horrifying because how did you get rid of him? Now though, the only way he could be released was to wind the watch. He would be released for as long as the watch ticked and if you wound it the whole way he was only free for 12 hours.

Or really, that was what they had told her when they dropped The Watch into the care of her and her family.

If she ever called on him there was certainly not going to be a need to wind the watch the whole way. He'd be free for only a few hours and that was nothing at all, especially since he could only use his power for what she wished.

She'd at least learned _that _from her reading. Wishes never ever worked out the way you wanted them too and it was better not to wish at all. _The Monkey's Paw _certainly came to mind.

It was just comforting to have the weight at her side. She had plans to go to Columbia, but there was a local college a few counties over that a lot of her friends were going to, and it really did have a wonderful lit program, a huge photography department...they even had a special library if you were a lit major that had first edition books. Shermer College wasn't anything she was settling for, it really was a surprise how much she liked it and it was close enough to home that she could visit whenever she liked. Sure Delia and her father could visit her on occasion, but if she wanted to see Barbra or Adam she had to go there.

They couldn't even use the phone or the Internet. If they tried the phone only produced static and strange—disconcerting—whispers. The Internet just provided a jumble of letters, numbers and symbols.

She and Grace pooled their money to buy a car and then when Grace had her accident, she lost the use of her right leg and driving was a little much for her. She didn't stop helping Lydia pay for the car though, she said it was only fair since Lydia now had to play chauffeur to her all the time.

The accident.

They hadn't even moved in yet, or become official students at Shermer. The two girls were walking down the streets in the town around the campus laughing and talking and pointing at the various sites.

There was construction going on but with the revitalization of the campus the town was coming to life as well.

Lydia and Grace paused at the window of a second-hand shop and peered inside. In the window was a shimmering pocket-watch, similar to the one that contained Betelgeuse. Grace had smiled at it and asked about Lydia's watch.

"I don't like to wear it." Was all Lydia had responded with, in truth it was locked away in her chest back at home and she hadn't thought of it in years.

"You should, it's kitsch!" Grace had laughed and then there was shouting. A rope above them had snapped and the load it carried started to fall. They were re-tarring the roof and it was suddenly raining rocks all around and bags and Grace pushed Lydia into the nearst shop door, but she didn't get in fast enough and received a heavy crack to her head.

She had crumpled like a rag doll.

That was almost two years ago now...

Grace had to accept her High School diploma in a wheelchair.

The next day Lydia had started wearing The Watch again, keeping it near her. Accidents happened so quickly and the repercussions lasted for years, lifetimes even. She had the power to help, and even if it doomed her she would rather see one person live who may not have before.

She felt a bit awful about taking money for a car Grace couldn't use but even if she didn't _take _the money Grace found a way to pay for the car, so after a few months Lydia just accepted the check with a small smile.

She did however refuse to let Grace cook and took that upon herself, which horrified Grace.

Grace may have been unable to make her cookies look like bats but she could cook all the same, Lydia was a different story. Still, the girl tried hard and Grace really didn't mind ordering out so much. Besides, Lydia was getting better, last night's meal had been palatable. The sauce was burnt and the noodles were too hard, but some people preferred noodles done that way. Lydia was improving and Grace really didn't mind.

Of course Freshmen dorms didn't normally have kitchens or any of the niceties that the two girls enjoyed. However the school _was _near to closing a few years ago and only the dorms normally reserved for older students were the only ones equipped with handicapped facilities

So Grace and her dear friend Lydia got to live in the utopia of dorm rooms—or that was what the two girls called it. Of course as nice as Grace was it just made Lydia feel worse that she couldn't tell her roommate why she went home every chance she got, or who it was that always sent the lovely letters and who it was making the model town Lydia received photos of so often.

Lydia was used to the lies, knew each one by heart even, but she grew tired of it sometimes. Sometimes she just wanted to burst and tell everyone about everything.

The feelings of guilt would eventually pass, and she would go about her days, trying to cook, and laughing with Grace.

And the watch remained silent at her hip during the day, and at night it sat on her bedside table, glinting as the occasional moonbeam struck the surface.

_**(If there were other sites that worked half as well as fanfiction I really would just leave but come on this place is the best, even if the lines don't work.)**_

So, there's the first chapter. Classes start Monday so I won't be as nice as everyone else in this section about updates but I do have a Livejournal that's going to start updating with minor comments fairly regularly, that's over in my profile and you can check there I'm going to try to keep a running tally of how complete all the chapters I'm working on are.

Oh yeah you all don't know me and my horrid habit...I have this nasty habit of having at least three stories going at once. Short attention span. Sorry. But yeah. I love you all if you've gotten this far and I hope I can do Llewlyn proud in trying my hand at her challenge. Those are some mighty big shoes to fill.


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm back. I love you all so so much you're all so kind about meh little old story. **

**Still don't own Beetlejuice...sadly. **

**I AM A LINE. I AM A LINE. I AM A LINE. I AM A LINE.****I AM A LINE. I AM A LINE. I AM A LINE. I AM A LINE.**

Lydia was trembling all over, her back was straight and she had a determined frown on her face but she was shaking like a leaf all the same. This wasn't ever supposed to happen. It was the sort of thing that happened in movies.

She'd come into the bank because three hundred dollars she deposited two days ago still hadn't appeared in her account. It was lunch time and the sun was out and shinning and two men stood in the center of the bank, wielding guns while their compatriots were in the back loading money into black bags.

This was supposed to happen ever.

People stole money all electronically now, they weren't_ supposed _to hold you hostage with guns and ski masks.

Yet here she was, lying on the floor of the local bank, with only an aging security guard for company. There had only been one teller on duty and he was back with the other two, helping themselves to the vault.

One of the two men watching the hostages and his companion were talking, joking with each other like this was nothing more than a trip to the bank. Then one of them swung the bag he held off his shoulder, opened it and walked over to her, demanding her valuables.

Lydia didn't even consider what this meant until she had dropped her empty wallet and a bracelet that her father bought her for her eighteenth into the bag. "The watch too."

"What?" She asked, throughly confused.

"That watch." The barrel of the gun nudged the watch that still hung at her side. She had forgotten about it she wore it so often. She nodded, and gripped the chain, fumbling with it for a moment and spinning the stem of the watch as she did.

At first nothing happened. The watch was heavy in her hand and the other robber held out his hand for it. It filled his palm as it did her own.

"Why do you want this?" He asked his friend.

She had never heard the watch tick before, but she was certain now that it was getting louder. Manic laughter filled the small atrium of the bank and a few people looked up, wondering at the exchange.

"Who is that?"

"Beetlejuice." Lydia whispered.

"What?" The crook actually looked reasonably disconcerted.

"That would be me!" Beetlejuice exclaimed, tossing himself between the two robbers surrounding Lydia, one arm around each of their shoulders. He wore the striped suit, the only thing she had seen him in other than that horrid, red tuxedo. Well...and that ratty old bathrobe she supposed. One of the men screamed, the other spun, using the butt of his gun to push the ghost's arm off him as he moved.

"Who in the hell are you?" He shouted, looking as rattled as the other, who looked too terrified to move. He was close enough to feel how cold the man was, to feel that he wasn't breathing, and to see the pallor of his skin. He was close enough to _know _this was a dead man.

Suddenly he was five and in church again, listening to his grandmother tell him in a hushed whisper that "bad people" go to hell and they rot there, burning and wailing and _gnashing their teeth_ for all eternity. God could find you wherever you were and he would _punish_ you if you did something wrong. Stealing was wrong, as were a lot of things he had done in more recent years of his life.

He was crying before he knew it and dropped to his knees, pushing the gun away and bowing his head, murmuring to himself. His words were so quick and shaky it took Lydia a moment to realize what it was he was saying.

"O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of heaven, and the pains of hell; but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, who are all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to confess my sins, to do penance, and to amend my life." Over and over he whispered it, backing up and still on his knees until he struck the counter. And there he huddled, praying and crying.

"Well that just leaves you and me buddy!" Beetlejuice said with a big smile. It may have been friendly if not for the glint in his eyes that Lydia recalled well from her childhood. That smile was always trouble, it belied the cruelty in the man behind it. The _dead _man behind it.

The other two, who had been back in the vault then came out, and seeing the chaos one of them fired at the Ghost.

The room dimmed, the only bright point was the odd glow around Beetlejuice. It was power gathering around him. She could feel it now that she was older and had spent more time around Ghosts. An itch in her nose and she could feel the hair on her neck stand on end. Something terrible was about to happen. The old security guard started to stand but Lydia held out her hand, shouting. "No, get down!" She rushed at him, skidding to a halt at his side and dragging him down with her as she knelt close to the ground.

She had thought it a fairly brilliant idea at the time. But now, releasing Beetlejuice seemed like it had been a monumental mistake. She had known something had to be done. Even if they didn't realize at the time what was happening when she gave them the Watch they would surely figure it out, or someone would, and then someone with no warning would release the Ghost onto the world and there was no telling what would happen.

There was no way she could have stood up to the robbers on her own, they would have just over-powered her and gotten the Watch anyway. Releasing him had been her _only _choice, and it still seemed like a poor one.

The praying robber was still crying but the other three vanished in the same flicker of light she remembered from when the _monster _sent Adam into the model and Barbra out to be devoured by a Sandworm.

She swore she could hear their faint screams, but it could have just been an echo. Beetlejuice swung on her and the guard then and the man tried to put himself in front of Lydia, as though he could protect her. The lights came back and she could see the watch, far to her left now that she had moved. She glanced to it and then to the Ghost who was approaching the pair quickly.

_Whomever _holds _the watch has power over him._

She could recall the rules that the man had rattled off when he brought the Watch to her family.

She never ran faster in all her life.

She held it up by it's chain, letting it dangle in front of her. Beetlejuice and the guard stared at her. Recognition played in his hard eyes.

He stepped away from the guard and towards her. His powers made the step take him farther than that and he was only a few feet away from her.

She could tell now that his eyes were green.

"Stop!" She shouted, lifting the watch higher. He wasn't that much taller than her but she wanted to be certain he saw what she held.

Lydia saw him move, or try to, but his feet were firmly planted to the marble floor. His face twisted into a frown and he ceased his struggle.

"You look familiar." He told her, making a face of supreme concentration.

She was thrown off by that. It never occurred to her—though it made sense—that they wouldn't tell him who would look after his prison. And it certainly never occurred to her that he wouldn't know her when he saw her. She hadn't forgotten his face. She then realized that in the nearly five years since she had seen him, he hadn't changed a bit, and she was certain that she had changed a great deal.

He couldn't move his feet because of her command, but he leaned forward at the waist, bringing them nearly nose-to-nose. He squinted those impossibly green eyes at her, his nose scrunching up as he scrutinized her closely.

"Lyds?" He asked softly, his eyes widening and a grin ripping across his face. She assured herself that even if that _was _hope in his voice, it was at another chance of marrying her and freeing himself. Still, her mouth was suddenly too dry for her to speak, she swallowed ineffectually and nodded. Even that was a feat.

The watch was still ticking as it swung slowly in her hand and the chimes sounded softly. "Thank you." She managed, her arm dropping to her side. The ticking was winding down. He was fading, she could already see the security guard behind him, looking at her oddly. The words felt inadequate.

"_Glad to see you._" The words were soft, and hollow, and he was gone, the words hanging in the air. Her stomach did a flip.

All that was left of the horrible sin she'd committed by letting him free, even for a moment, was a baffled old man, and a crying young man in a ski-mask. When he saw that Beetlejuice was gone he raced across the room and right into one of the windows, thinking it was the door. He bounced off and lay stunned on his back a moment before scrambling to his feet again and pushing out the door and racing down the street.

"Where are the others?" The guard asked.

"I really don't know."

"Who was that...that..."

"Ghost." Lydia supplied dully.

"You called him?" She nodded, the guard smiled and touched the hand which didn't hold the watch. "Thank you. I'm going to find Martin." She could only assume that was the teller who had gone off with the robbers and never come back.

"What--?" Her mouth was still dry and her throat felt thick. _What had she done?_

"They fought amongst themselves, ran off and I certainly don't know what happened to them. You'd best be running along before the police get here. You can't tell the police anything and I'm sure the robbers were bright enough to destroy the security tapes." He told her with a wink. She nodded, surprised by his kindness and understanding, but she wasn't going to question it. She took her chance and sped out of the bank, late already to her afternoon class.

It was just as well, seeing that face had done a number on her and all she wanted was to crawl under her covers, and find out this had all been a horrible dream.

She returned to her dorm to find it empty. For the first time it seemed much too large and she considered going over to Maggie and Alison's dorm, over in Adler Hall. She knew that one of them would be there and maybe being surrounded by people was what she needed instead.

She decided against that when she glanced at the watch she still clung desperately too and walked to her bed, kicking off her shoes as she went. She crawled under the comforter, buried her face in her pillow, screwed her eyes shut...

And all she could see was Beetlejuice _staring _at her. His eyes were a strange sort of green, that sort of summer green with flecks of gold, they were sunken into his face, but not so much that you couldn't tell their color. His hair was a wild mess of blond, contrasting strongly with his parchment-colored skin. His nose was long and almost elegant, and his striped suit was dusty. She recalled him as being large, maybe even heavy, but now he was gaunt at best. In some places she could even see the skin stretching over the bone. She was certain that if he was shirtless she could have counted his ribs.

She suddenly realized that she was thinking about that horrid _beast _shirtless and her eyes snapped open. She rolled onto her back, shifting in her bed and trying again. He was smiling at her now, in that same soft way just before he'd vanished. _"Glad to see you." _He'd said. It echoed in her ears over and over again.

What did he mean by that? Glad to see her indeed!

Two hours later and she was still up, still tossing and turning and fuming. Now she was certain that he had said it merely to rattle her.

**I AM A LINE. I AM A LINE. I AM A LINE. I AM A LINE.****I AM A LINE. I AM A LINE. I AM A LINE. I AM A LINE.**

**Ying.Yang.Sisters -- **:P Well you know me I've seen you 'round my other stories. I'm a sucker for romance and since BJ and Lydia are the only two characters. Course, that doesn't mean their ending will be easy...:)

**WitchyWanda -- **Still not much conversation, but we're getting to that, I'm still trying to give you some setting since it's been forever since the movie (in this story) and to set up plot points for later.

**Mywickedlyweirdnature: **Hey, sometimes you don't have to get around the rules, you just have to know them all. Mwa ha ha. I'm glad you like the idea, I was really proud of it and it's something wholly new for me.

**Llewlyn: **Excuse the minor coranary at the fact that you are reviewin' my lil' old story. I'm also glad that you like it so very much and I hope I can continue to...please you.


	3. Chapter 3

**Oh man, everyone was updating so I figured I just HAD to as well. sigh I do not however think this measures up to some of the others but I'll try anyway.**

**I don't own any of the people you like, and I'll return them all when I'm done with them.**

**Ohh! I just remembered what I was going to tell you! I found the watch! THE WATCH! I just made something up for the story but I was loitering around Ebay which I do too often, and I FOUND IT! I mean it's like someone plucked it out of my head! So yeah. I hope I win it. I'm happy and Scottish Lit--by the way--ROCKS. Woot.  
**

**I am a line. The text balancing here isn't really here, you're just imagining things. Maybe you should get that checked out.  
**

Hours after the scene at the bank and Lydia was still not asleep.

She was still alone in the room though. Grace had slipped at work and fallen. Which, for any normal person that would be of little consequence. However, Grace, because of her leg, had to spend at least a night in the hospital while they made sure there was no lasting damage and in the phone call earlier she'd said that the doctors were even talking about putting her back in the wheelchair for a while.

Lydia had moved out into the small common room, the television was on though she wasn't watching. She was staring at the Watch, which was sitting in the center of the rickety coffee table supported on one side by last semester's textbooks.

The chain was curled around it like a snake curled about its eggs and the television's blue glow flickered over its surface.

And Lydia continued to stare at it as though it would get up and tell her why she saw Betelgeuse every time she closed her eyes.

She was shaking, not from fear as was the case early this afternoon, but from exhaustion. She was tired, she needed sleep, and she was frustrated.

She picked up the Watch, gripped the stem with two fingers...

...and set the Watch back down.

She would turn it one revolution. She'd just barely nicked it with her fingers in the afternoon—due in part to the fact she was trying to be secretive about it.

She hadn't thought the men capable of killing, but they were holding guns and she wasn't about to make them think she was reaching for a weapon of her own. As a child she had been fascinated by death, but Barbra and Adam had taught her that death held its own set of problems just like life. Different problems mind you, but problems all the same.

She wasn't quite ready to die just yet now.

She would turn it one revolution, that couldn't be much more than an hour. It made sense, he had been around for possibly thirty minutes when she just twisted it—what she judged to be—halfway.

He would be out for an hour. She would explain to him her situation, his situation—since he didn't seem to know as much as she thought he deserved—and she would thank him again.

Surely this sleeplessness was because of guilt. He'd saved her, the bank, and God only knew how much money. Plus three burglars were out of commission and the last...

He was probably _still _running.

That would take an hour. Then he'd be back in the watch, she'd put it away, maybe in a safe-deposit box at the bank, and never, _ever _think of him again. She'd put it in her Will that the box wasn't to be touched and Juno had given her permission that if she had children she could tell them and her husband about everything.

_After all, _Juno had said, taking a drag on her cigarette, _it will be their responsibility as much as yours to make sure he never gets out._

She nodded deftly, clicked off the television, and picked up the watch again. It felt warm to the touch. Expectant even, though that was an utterly _ridiculous _thought. He had no idea what was happening out here.

Her mind was just running away with her again.

The gears clicked as she wound it slowly, trying to ensure that it was one turn and no more. _This is a bad idea. _She managed to think weakly as the chimes sounded.

The room swam for a moment and he was lounging on the couch beside her, his feet up on the table and his arms folded across his chest.

He still looked thin but perhaps not _so _thin as before. Not that she had noticed, it was_ surely _just her imagination working over-time. She supposed that an overactive imagination was the curse of an artist, or a hopeful artist. She was still studying and had yet to be _paid _for her art.

"Heya babes. Miss me?" He fluttered his eyes at her and reached out his arms, as though to embrace her.

She, in turn, leaped off the sagging couch and held out the Watch. "Don't!" She was unnerved but she kept her voice firm and commanding. His arms looked like they were yanked back to his sides by invisible hands and he slammed back into the couch with the force of it.

"_Goddammit!"_ He swore violently, struggling for a moment to settle himself into a comfortable position that her command allowed him.

"And be quiet!" She grinned a little manically, she felt almost drunk with the power she held over him and it took a great amount of willpower not to abuse it. His mouth snapped shut on whatever retort had been ready on his tongue.

She sighed heavily as she realized that this was not working the way she had planned. She could feel her shoulders sag as she sank into the recliner that Grace had smuggled away from her father in the dead of night two months ago. It was his favorite place to relax after a long day at work—Grace's as well apparently.

"You're so infuriating! Can't you be normal for two minutes? I'm trying to apologize and help you!" She wasn't yelling, but as she spoke her voice rose in pitch until she _was _almost screeching.

He looked at her strangely, confused almost. For a moment she was sixteen again, sad, lonely and looking for Barbra and Adam because they were the only ones in the world to be kind to her.

_I wanna get in._ She whispered sorrowfullyHe'd actually paused, and cocked his head to the side. So utterly confused by her small statement.

_Why?_ There was such baldfaced honesty in the question.

She shook her head as though to shake the memory lose and out of her life forever.

"You _want _to help me?" He asked finally, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees while his hands dangled between his legs. He looked relaxed if not still confused.

"Well," She sighed heavily. "Yes." She shrugged as though confused by her own actions, which was—in part—true.

"Why?"

There it was again, the same tone, the same tilt of the head, and the same look—though larger—she wondered if he recalled that he had asked her that once before, long ago. She doubted it, he had barely remembered _her_ at all in the bank.

"Because you helped me, earlier...in the bank." She wanted to add that he had helped her with the Maitlands as well, and that she never had paid him back for that help. But if he had forgotten the attempt to marry her she wasn't going to remind him.

"I had to." He fairly growled, his face twisting up as though it was a foul taste in his mouth. She had no response to that. There was nothing she could say to _change _that, so she shrugged again and sighed heavily, folding herself nearly in half, resting her head on her knees and wishing that she could have slept the afternoon away. She wished she could sleep for a _month _for that matter.

"Fine. Look I just wanted to apologize for what's happened to you, try and help you as much as I can, and offer you some food if you wanted it." She paused, glancing up at him through her bangs. "_Real _food--if you even _can_ eat. I don't have any bugs or anything."

He blinked at her with those eyes which, she realized, were glowing slightly, or at the very least shimmering.

"Don't ask me why!" She shouted sitting up and flinging out the hand that still clung desperately to the Watch. She was certain that was what he was opening his mouth for, and she got some satisfaction when his mouth snapped shut against his will. "I'm _trying _to be nice." She ground out. She shouted because she couldn't quelch the thought that those glimmering green eyes were beautiful fast enough and she almost felt like a physical blow had been dealt to her. They _were _beautiful eyes.

It was true that the man behind them was powerful and a little terrifying but his eyes...were exotic and elegant and gorgeous and she couldn't stop thinking about them now that the thought was stuck in her mind like a burr. Her hand dropped uselessly to her side and the Watch landed heavily in her lap.

"How do you know what's happened to me?" He asked after a moment of struggling to get his mouth open.

"Because we're," She paused, "my family and I, we're supposed to watch over your prison." She explained, flashing the ticking watch at him again. He squinted at it and rolled his shoulders, stretching. "They didn't tell you any of this?" She was still confused at that. If anything the afterlife seemed more bureaucratic than the living world, it seemed more likely that they would have explained it to him, in triplicate even.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "They didn't get a chance to tell me anything, too quick to stuff me in that tiny prison cell there." He motioned lazily to the Watch. He was lying of course. They had read him what little rights he had and they had told him what was happening to him and why. At the time he would have preferred a deck of cards or something to keep him company in the cold, and the dark. Now though, his mind was running over what they'd told him before he was sealed into that damned watch and, slowly, an idea was forming in the back of his head.

She wondered briefly what it was like _inside_. Which quickly turned to wondering if it was even technically _inside _or just connected. She felt a little ridiculous wondering about that when there was a ghost lounging on her couch.

"You did de—do a lot of terrible things." She pointed out. She was quick to catch herself before saying he deserved it. She wasn't certain about that. He had done terrible things, but only because people asked for his help...and he did do what they wanted.

Mostly.

He narrowed his eyes at her and then rolled them, flopping back in the couch and propping up his feet once more. "Not like I saved those two bumpkins when you asked or anything...Wait." He sat up straight, though his feet were still sitting on the table. "I did do that now didn't I?" You could fairly see the sarcasm dripping from his words.

He shook his head as though wondering why he was even bothering to explain it to her and sunk back into the couch.

"You did. And I never thanked you for that." He looked up as though certain he had misheard her. "Thank you." She finished.

"I didn't want a thank you, I wanted out of the Netherworld."

"Technically you are out. You never specified you wanted to be somewhere better." She was getting annoyed with him, she was at least _trying _to make amends.

He looked startled, though if that was because of what she said or simply the fact that she'd_ said _it she wasn't certain.

"I can." He said, and you could hear the small smile in his voice. A voice like...like...like brandy running over rocks, gravelly but thick as honey and just as smooth...She shook her head—not for the first time that night and surely not the last—and felt like a fool.

She was grateful he couldn't hear her thoughts. Just to be safe she narrowed her eyes at him, wondering. He showed no _outward _sign he could hear the insane turn her thoughts had taken. She felt safe for the moment.

"You can what?" She asked, suddenly realizing that that soft, smiling sentence had come without any precursor.

"Eat. Real food. The offer still stands doesn't it?" He asked, he was still smiling in a small way, but the smile was disconcerting. Lydia suddenly had the image of a crocodile smiling at a fish, and she had the distinct feeling that she was the fish.

"Yes." She said slowly. "We don't have much." She apologized. It was almost the end of the month and eventually they would need to go out for more groceries.

"I've not had real food in nearly six hundred years--" that was a bit of a lie, there was that time when he'd hit Mexico just in time for the Day of the Dead. "I'm not going to be picky." He picked at his teeth with one fingernail.

She frowned at him and wondered why she was even bothering. He was disgusting and mean and he'd nearly _killed _her father...and Otho she supposed.

Of course he'd saved Barbra and Adam from something _worse _than death. And he didn't seem to remember that she'd promised to marry him. Or if he did remember he wasn't saying anything about it. So she stood and walked into the small corner of the room that served as a kitchen. There was really just a small expanse of counter, a decrepit washer, a sink that had a perpetual stain in the bottom, an electric stove—that was new for fire-safety reasons—and a hideously green refrigerator, but it was better than nothing. Part of the fridge was covered with odd scraps of wrapping paper.

Grace had the idea to try and cover the green, but both girls had gotten tired of it always ripping and just stopped mid-project.

**There's a line here, you're just imagining the text. It's probably an issue with your eyes or your monitor, I suggest replacing whichever is cheaper.**

**Okay so yeah there we go. I tell you later on Lydia starts taking further advantage of the fact that she can control him and then it gets more fun.**

**Mywickedlywierdnature -- **Well you didn't have to wait too long for this. And I loved that line as well. It seemed pefect for what's coming in the future. And I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Llewlyn -- **I can't tell you what's next! Well actually I could, I mean I'm absolutely terrible with reading books, I sneak a peak at the end more often than I like to admit, so I always offer my readers the chance that if they--you--really like I'll tell you what's gonna happen. And I'm glad you think I'm good, but you're still fabulous, and really it is because of your story that I even gave writing Beetlejuice a chance. And about the balance of power...Heh...you have NO idea. Mwa ha ha.

**Spiderjuice -- **I'm...speechless, thanks! You and everyone else has been so very kind, making me feel welcome here in this fandom, it's like nothing else! I am glad you think I have them in character and I'm always a bit nervous about that so if I start slippin' do feel free to point it out! I'm glad I pass the inspection! And with an "A" to boot! Whoo!

I don't mind rambling at all! Have I told people? People in other Fandoms who review my stories have taken to writing mini essays for me! Serves me writing for showing an interest in Greek mythology when apparently like four of my readers are in Greece! gasp Then there is one who writes bits of stories so that if I want to hear the end I have to update again. :) I love rambling, and you can tell already I do it far too much for my own good anway.

I hope you continue to like my story and I hope I can hang out here for a long time to come--I really like it around here! Whee!

**WitchyWanda -- **I hope the dramatic and fastmoving is a compliment, I liked it. I'm glad you think I'm doing well and I'm touched that you're almost jealous! I mean wha! You write them both so well I feel like a bit of a novice...I'm honored:)

**Thehush -- **I am glad that you saw fit to review my lil' ol' story then. And I'm glad you had such nice things to say! This fandom is a bit addicting so I've a few chapters stored up, I just want to...space them out a bit so if I do run out of ideas there are still chapters to be updated, hopefully making it so you never have to wait more than a week for an update. I love this too much to drop it! Thanks much and I hope you continue to enjoy it so!


	4. Chapter 4

**Seriously, go look in my profile, I've never written anything even HALF as fast as this is turning out. I thought I would post this and then wait about a day though because the next chapter is a bit of a monster. A lot happens and there was just no place to cut it off, so yeah.**

**Don't own the ghost with the most, gotta admit I wish I did. **

**_This is a line._****_This is a line._****_This is a line._****_This is a line._****_This is a line._****_This is a line._****_This is a line._****_This is a line._****_This is a line._****_This is a line._**

It turned out that the two girls didn't have much, and in the end it came down to left-overs or sandwiches. She made the latter with the last of the ham. There was more than enough mayonnaise left, and enough mustard, so long as he didn't mind it being a little runny.

She knew there was cheese in the refrigerator but since that was because she could smell it, she left it off.

She sliced them in half with hands that suddenly shook and carried them over on a couple of mismatched plates like the ones that filled the small cabinets. There was nothing but water and plastic cups so she brought that but he didn't look like the water-drinking type.

She tucked her legs under her and wasn't certain food had been the best idea, her stomach was in knots and flipping and flopping and doing somersaults and every other cliché there was. Her sandwich sat untouched as the ghost across the table consumed the first half in three big bites. A dollop of mayonnaise had dripped onto his plate and with a swipe of his finger he inhaled that as well.

She winced, one corner of her mouth twisting downward. Like her stomach wasn't in enough turmoil as it was.

Watching him eat was absolutely disgusting. Her stomach was empty but she still felt as though she was about to throw up.

"Whass a matter babes?" He asked looking up at her suddenly, smears of mustard and mayonnaise around his mouth and a little bit of ham hanging loose from his lips.

"Don't call me that." The command from her lips reminded her there was something she could do about the situation. "And don't be so disgusting. Mind your manners." She felt ridiculous saying something as inane as "mind your manners" but she could think of no other way to make it into a command.

He looked like he was trying to make a face, or even say something rude, it just wouldn't come out. All that happened was he took a napkin and wiped off his face. She smiled viciously, that had certainly turned out better than she'd thought it would. He frowned and glared at her, the only thing her command allowed him.

"I am just trying to be nice to you, I figured that you were an ass because no one took the time to thank you. This was probably a mistake." She shook her head and started to clean up the plates. Beetlejuice looked like more food was the _last _thing on his mind so she picked up his as well and walked to the kitchen. Her food was still untouched.

"Thank you." The voice was small and strangled. She spun on her heel, nearly dropping everything she carried. For a moment she thought that she _had _underestimated him, but the look on his face reminded her. She had told him to mind his manners, and now she was cleaning up his plates, it was only right that he should thank her.

She grinned winningly, rather enjoying this, "You're very welcome." She told him, turning her back to him once more.

She would have to remember to tell him that the next time she let him out as well, because They had said that most commands would be..."undone" when he was returned to his prison--

She froze and dropped the plate she held, it clattered into the trash can in front of her, the weight of it nearly knocking the whole thing over.

Where had _that _thought come from? She was never going to let him out, _ever again!_ And here she was thinking about _the next time?_

She shook her head and growled low at herself. This was _stupid._ She continued berating herself under her breath as she bent to fish the plate out of the garbage. As she stood she was suddenly aware of a presence behind her.

"It isn't _polite _to ignore your _guest." _Cold air blasted against the back of her neck with each word and she spun around in an instant, a plate still clutched tightly in one hand. She stood face to face with the ghost now. And one of his hands plucked the plate from her grasp, settling it carefully on the counter.

His fingers were impossibly long, like a pianists fingers. The same ring he had worn so long ago still glimmered on one finger, strangely new for a ghost who claimed to have lived through the plague. Furthermore it was the first time she'd noticed that he wore two watches she could see, one was old, before batteries even, and the other looked newer, but still as far back as the Seventies just by the age of the thing.

Lumps in his sleeve told of even more watches.

There was no more than a hairsbreadth of space between the two of them and for several long moments Lydia could hardly collect herself enough to think about anything other than _Beetlejuice _and how _close _he was.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her frayed nerves—never again would she tease her father about being stressed—and the air around her smelled distinctly of him. Aged paper, dust, damp earth, and herbs.

She nearly choked on it. He was dead and vile he was supposed to smell of something fitting, not this strange and wonderful scent that she craved to smell again.

"What are you doing?" She managed finally, shoving at him with all her strength, which proved to be useless. She stumbled right through him as he suddenly became intangible and nearly hit the floor as she continued to fall forward.

_Nearly_ because a hand caught each of her arms with ease, lifted her back onto her feet, and swung her around so that her back was against the curved edge of her counter. He wasn't holding her any longer but she could feel the cold burn of his flesh still, even through the long-sleeved shirt she wore.

He was so close she was having trouble breathing, not that she would give him the pleasure of knowing. "Are you alright?" There was compassion in his voice but none in his eyes.

"Huh?" She managed, blinking and trying to right herself in the storm of her thoughts. "F-fine." She hoped that he hadn't caught the slight tremor in her voice. The backs of his hands ghosted across her shoulders, brushing invisible dust off of her. He smiled.

"Good." And he meant it.

"Beetle--" The watch—tucked in her pocket and ticking softly through the exchange grew softer, and the chimes sounded weakly.

"Bye Lyds." He said, brushing the back of his hand over her cheek. "We should do this again sometime." His voice hadn't lingered through the whole sentence, but she could make out what he was saying but the soft whisper and the movement of his lips. When he was gone and the watch was silent and heavy in her pocket.

She blinked at the place where he had once stood and her mouth hung ajar.

"_What was that?" _So startled was she that she actually spoke aloud. "Did—you—what—no!" She was ready to tear her hair out. He was cold and cruel and infuriating and he'd only caught her because she'd told him to be polite and no other reason and-and-and...

She needed out of this room which suddenly felt too small and she could smell that smell of his everywhere.

She grabbed her keys off the small elegant side-table that didn't fit with any of the eclectic mix of furniture filling the room—the curse of this big room the dorms didn't furnish it for you—and flung the front door open, desperate to escape. She nearly plowed straight into Juno, who stood there in the hall with a cigarette dangling from her lips, which were turned down in a frown.

Under normal circumstances Lydia's reaction would have been an apologetic look and a scrambled attempt at an explanation.

These were not normal circumstances.

Lydia was tired, and flustered and annoyed, and ready to snap, and when she saw that frown on the small woman's face—a frown that only served to intensify the gash across her neck—there was only one course of action for the young woman.

"Aw shit." She sighed heavily, sagging against the door frame and cast her eyes up towards heaven. Not that assistance would come from that direction.

"'Aw shit' is right Lydia!" Juno snapped, pushing past the mortal and into the home beyond. Lydia wondered for a moment how far she would get if she just bolted now, but Juno was a ghost and fairly powerful at that and would eventually find her again.

So, dejectedly Lydia closed the door, tossed her keys back where she'd found them and followed Juno, who took the recliner, so Lydia collapsed onto the couch. "You let him out, you had to know actions would be taken." Juno's voice was hard, and angry, but that was the kind of person she was. Lydia could tell that she was sorry to be having this conversation with her.

"I had to Juno, someone was trying to rob me, and you're the one who said that I couldn't let anyone get the watch no matter what. I assumed letting him free for a few minutes was better than letting a criminal get a hold of him." If Lydia was lucky Juno only knew about the Bank, and even that was only because of the three people Beetlejuice had—she never did ask what he did to them...

"He sent three mortals to Saturn!" Juno exclaimed. That had to have been how Juno knew that Beetlejuice had been out. He was the only one who would do that, and so obviously it was Lydia's fault because she was supposed to look after him.

"So I should have forked over the watch?" Lydia asked, annoyance leaking into her voice. She regretted—in the back of her mind—being so cruel to Juno, who really was rather helpful at times.

Juno sighed heavily, and the flaps of her wound wavered slightly.

"No. Just...Lydia you of all people know how dangerous he is. That's why he was bound in the first place."

"But Juno, if he's bound how could he possibly be of any danger to anyone? If he has to obey whatever commands that I give him—or whomever it is holding the watch...I don't see how he could cause too much trouble..." Lydia asked, she could tell Juno was worried about something, and she was torn between being worried as well, and being angry that it was obviously something they hadn't warned her about.

"Lydia, he is a powerful spirit. He cannot be trusted no matter how safe things may seem, and he must obey your commands but he can stretch them to their very limits. I do not doubt that he could find a way to hurt you."

"You don't need to worry Juno," Lydia managed a weak smile and her other hand came up to cover Juno's this time. "I'm not going to let him out again." It was the truth. If Lydia never saw him again in her life—or afterlife for that matter—it would be too soon.

Juno managed a smile of her own and faded into nothing but a few eddies of smoke. Lydia coughed into her hand and stretched out on the couch. She was never, ever going to see him again so these mad thoughts dashing through her head had no place there.

She vanished them through sheer force of will and finally collapsed into a deep sleep born of pure exhaustion. That hard, heavy sleep that often left you feeling exhausted when you awoke, as though it had been hard work. You never dream in that complete sleep and Lydia was no exception there was just complete and total darkness.

**_This is a line._****_This is a line._****_This is a line._****_This is a line._****_This is a line._****_This is a line._****_This is a line._****_This is a line._****_This is a line._****_This is a line.  
_**

**Llewlyn -- **I love that line as well. :) And big grins are always good.

**mywickedlywierdnature -- **heh. I'm glad you like it. Makes me smile to know that.

**Rattus -- **Yay! It's a good thing when readers want more. I hope this holds you over for a little while.


	5. Chapter 5

**I don't own any of the characters you like. **

**I AM A LINE.****I AM A LINE.****I AM A LINE.****I AM A LINE.****I AM A LINE.****I AM A LINE.****I AM A LINE.****I AM A LINE.****I AM A LINE.****I AM A LINE.****I AM A LINE.**

She could hear something very far away, but her eyes were heavy, sealed shut maybe. She didn't care. Her mind was fuzzy if it worked at all. There was a clatter and she cracked one eye open. Her body felt like lead, under some cement and maybe covered with dust, it stretched out behind her, completely alien at the moment as she watched Grace from over the arm of the couch. "Oh Sweets!" Grace was always calling everyone by pet names and nicknames.

"You wouldn't believe those fussy doctors. I tell you if I didn't need 'em to stand I'd ram this right down his throat." She sagged against the door frame so she could wave her cane about like a weapon. Grace hated being twenty-one and needing a cane so she had painted it neon pink. Lydia blinked owlishly at it, her fuzzy mind and fuzzier vision made it a little startling to see a neon pink blur. She tried to talk but her tongue hadn't woken up yet so she curled back up on the couch and tried to ignore her still-chattering companion.

Grace moved about their apartment chattering animatedly and explaining her fall, and what the doctors said and the things _she _had said when they suggested putting her back in the wheelchair.

The recliner creaked as Grace flopped into it and she talked about how tired she was and asked Lydia why she was sleeping on the couch and not in her bed.

"Never see you with your watch off. It's rather elegant you know? Maybe a little manly but that can be cool sometimes. Women's Lib you know we can be as manly as we want dammit!" Grace giggled. "It's out you know." She said. Lydia tried to tell her to shut up, but she only grumbled into the pillow.

"Aw poor Pumkin!" You could hear the smile in Grace's voice. "Well I'll make some pancakes, I'm hungry. I'll leave some over for you, in the fridge 'k?" Lydia tried a thank you but all that came out was a muffled grumble with a kind lilt to it. There was a click, the sound of gears turning loudly.

"Wound your watch too, I guess that's the downside of a--" Lydia sat up so fast she tumbled off the couch and landed hard on the floor.

"I knew you'd miss me babes!" He was leaned over the back of the couch, his hands tucked under his arms and a crooked smile on his face that made her want to smack him. Or it would have if she had been paying attention to_ him; _she was more worried about Grace, who was doing a wonderful impression of a wide-mouthed bass.

He opened his mouth to say something and Lydia cursed whoever had designed his new prison she would much rather just say his name, send him away and calm down her roommate alone.

"Showing me off to your friends?" There was disgust in his voice, more deep-seated than simple annoyance, almost...hurt. Not that, but similar. An old wound maybe. Or maybe she was going mad. It certainly felt like her brain was bursting to pieces that were scattering every which way.

The cane moved through the air so quickly that it whistled. It also passed harmlessly though the ghost—still leaning on the couch—and cracked against the back of the piece of furniture. The force of the attack cracking the cane almost completely in half.

"Whoa." Beetlejuice murmured, eyebrows raising against pale skin.

"What--" Grace stuttered, and Lydia lunged at her, catching her before the other girl could fall.

"How far did you wind the watch?" She asked, her hands tightening unconciously around Grace's arms. Fear, regret, and anger all fought for supremacy over her features.

"Lyd--" Grace started, confused as to why _that _was what her dear friend was focusing on.

"Hey Babes, if you need some time to calm that one down," He winked at Grace. "I could go elsewhere."

"Don't leave this dorm room!" She shouted, gripping the watch with one hand and supporting Grace with the other. Brown hair spilled away from blue eyes as Grace sagged against the slight girl who seemed to have a power over the strange man in their room.

"Lydia." She whimpered. Lydia helped her into the chair behind her and knelt on the floor in front of her.

"Gracie, this is Beetlejuice." It felt odd saying his name and knowing it held no power over him anymore. "He's a Ghost. He haunted my house when I was young. He's very powerful, and very cunning. The other people in the afterlife bound his powers. They knew that my family _knew _how dangerous he could be, and so they left this watch in our care. He's trapped in this watch and he can only come out when you wind it."

"I wound it the whole way." Grace said tearfully, never taking her eyes from the dead man who was now looking at the photos on the top of their television set.

"That's okay sweetie. He has to do what I say so he can't get into too much trouble. He'll only be out for twelve hours, that's how the watch works. As long as it's ticking, he's free. When it stops, he goes away." Grace managed a watery smile at that.

"She gonna take a swing at me again?" Beetlejuice asked from his position inspecting a photo of Grace and Lydia at their graduation.

"It only served to break my cane the first time." Grace murmured.

"Well, why didnnya say so?" He asked and Lydia felt her nose itch again and the world flickered for a moment. Leaned against the chair that Grace had crumpled into was a cane, tall and elegant and worn, in that loved sort of way. Grace blinked and shook her head, as though unsure about what she was really seeing.

Lydia was just as startled but not because of the sudden appearance of the cane, but at the sudden kindness the Ghost was showing. He was supposed to be mean and terrible, a monster who had tried to force her to choose between marrying him and losing her two dearest friends to something _worse _than death.

She'd read that book, she knew what was waiting for them if they were exorcised.

And yet suddenly he was being..._kind_.

She blinked at him, wondering what his angle was, _why he was helping._ He just raised one eyebrow and shrugged like it was no big deal and turned back to the pictures.

"Thank you." Lydia whispered. She knew how strange it was for him to have helped, but she had wanted to see him be more...caring, more like Barbra and Adam were. She didn't understand why he was so cruel and disgusting all the time when all the other ghosts she'd met were so kind, or at the very least polite.

And now that he was being nice it was more disconcerting than welcomed.

"How did he do that?" Grace asked, marveling at the cane that had come from thin-air.

"I'm the Ghost with the Most Babes." He said with that same cocksure grin that Lydia could never completely clear from her mind, in that same gravelly, honeyed voice that sent chills up her spine. Unbidden the acidic taste of jealousy rose in Lydia's throat and she had to struggle to keep her face neutral.

What did she have to be jealous of? She didn't even _like _it when he called her "babes" so why, oh why, would she be _jealous _when he used the same disgusting name on her friend. If she weren't a lunatic she would be feeling angry at him for using the horrid nickname on her friend, whom he'd _already_ scared out of her wits.

Still though her face was warm and the corners of her mouth turned down in a frown. And worst of all, her stomach twisted painfully.

Grace leaned heavily on her new cane as she stood, hobbling about a bit as she tested it out. She then nodded softly. "I have to get to class." She murmured. "Are you going to be okay if I leave you alone with him?" She asked Lydia.

"Hey! I'm the one who gave you that nice new cane when you broke the other one _attacking _me." The ghost pointed out, sitting in mid-air and crossing his legs in what Lydia soon realized was nothing more than him _pouting. _She chuckled behind one hand and shook her head, turning back to Grace.

"I've dealt with him since I was sixteen, I can handle him for a few hours." She assured her friend softly, ushering her out the door. And when it clicked behind her, closing Grace in the hall, she whirled on the still-pouting ghost.

"Would you please stop that?" She asked, leaning against the door and pinching the bridge of her nose. She could feel a headache coming on already. He dropped to the floor, landing on his feet heavily. It startled her that he _could _land heavily.

"Why did you say that?" He asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"Because it's annoying me, I don't want anything to do with ghosts right now I just need to think. To figure out what to do with you for twelve _whole _hours!" She snapped. He was in front of her in a moment. His eyes were so big and bright and his hair was as wild as ever. She nearly kicked herself that she remembered his scent and, hated herself that she took a deep breath before she could stop herself.

She put her hands up to stop him, push him away even, but he caught her wrists in his cold, pianist hands with those long elegant fingers.

He held her as though she were made of spun glass, and the gentle touch surprised her. She wondered if he could hear her heart—standing as close as he was—because it was hammering in her ears so loud she was certain it would deafen her.

"Why did you _ask _me to stop?" He ground out, clarifying for her sake. And for a moment all she could do was stand there with her head tilted up ever so slightly and stare into those enchanting green eyes.

"What?" Her breathlessness gave the word a thousand more syllables than it needed. This was not lost on the ghost who smiled rakishly in response to it.

"You _asked _me to stop Lydia." Her heart fluttered in her chest like a caged bird and her knees trembled—she was certain they would give out—she thought, for just a moment, that she had preferred "Babes" on his tongue than her name.

When he said it, it wasn't her name any longer, it was a prayer, a poem, a bell chiming in the distance. She felt warmth fill her stomach as though she'd just gulped brandy and she had to swallow several times before she could even manage a squeak.

"Despite what you seem to think_, I don't like forcing people to do things!_ I don't offer up a Hob's Choice at every turn and _sometimes _ I show compassion for other people." It was far easier to be angry with him than, than _whatever_ it was that she was feeling for him. Certainly not _attraction _he was disgusting and _dead_ and even if he wasn't nearly seven hundred years old and he was still alive he would have been at least ten years older than her, maybe even twenty it was difficult to tell.

He let her wrists drop to her sides. "So what _will _you do with me for _twelve whole hours_?" He asked, his already deep voice dropping an octave lower. She pushed away from the door, and in turn away from Beetlejuice.

"I don't know." She admitted finally. A weight lifted from her chest. She was so used to knowing more than everyone. She had read the manual. She had understood it. She had known to ask Beetlejuice to save the Maitlands. She had known enough to be trusted with caring for the psychotic spirit far too powerful for his own good.

It was nice to not know.

And so she stood there for a moment, staring out the small window their dorm had and _not knowing_. They had a lovely view of the parking lot and a few trees, but it was certainly more calming that daring to look at the ghost behind her.

"I can think of lots of _fun _things for us to do." He said, and she could nearly hear the lecherous look on his face.

"Stop being a pervert."

"Aw what happened to the kind, gentle Lydia who is against commands and choices of the Hobson's variety?" He asked.

"Stay at least five feet away from me." Her voice sounded hollow and cold even to her own ears. She heard his curse over the sound of the couch being dragged along the floor. It must have gotten in his way.

She viciously wished for a moment that it would have hurt him. She regretted it even if she didn't say it aloud.

"Dammit Lyds what was that for?" He shouted.

"Please stop calling me that." She ground out between her teeth. "We're not friends, we don't know anything about each other, and if I hadn't commanded you stay in this room you would be on the other side of the globe by now." She told him turning around. The scene would have made her laugh if not for the serious air that permeated everything in the room. He was sprawled out on the couch, which had been dragged with him almost a foot and a half. His jacket was tucked up around his shoulders and it looked like a giant had picked him up and tossed him aside.

She didn't think she could take twelve hours of this.

He stood up and brushed himself off, sending clouds of dust into the air and making her cough.

"It wasn't a Hobs Choice ." He muttered to himself. She had to ask him to repeat himself twice before she understood what he was saying and when she did she sighed heavily. She took a step towards him and he was jerked backwards by invisible strings.

"I rescind my command that you stay five feet away from me." She'd regretted it the moment she'd said it. "And it was. See the two people nicest to me in a very long time die for a second time—never to come back—or marry you. I'd say that fits the definition of the term." She folded her arms across her chest, for a moment she had the air of an angry mother looking at her child, waiting for a confession of guilt.

His face twisted into a look of anger. She had to struggle not to flinch away when he took a step closer. "Did you ever ask how you could have stopped an exorcism yourself? There's a way you know." He said, his voice was deep and low and she could feel a shiver travel up her spine. Fear didn't cause it, and she didn't want to know what did.

"How?" She asked, taking a step forward herself, trying to pretend that she was curious and nothing more, trying to ignore the hundreds of feelings and emotions she didn't want to face.

He grinned and she thought once more of some feral predator, while she was most definitely the prey.

"Sacrifice. One soul for another. So you would rather marry me than see your friends die, that's no choice." He was suddenly face to face with her, when he had gotten that close she didn't know. "Would you have died rather than marry me?" His eyes sparkled, he had her in the palm of his hand.

Lydia could see that she was trapped in a proverbial corner. She knew that if she answered "no" he would know that she didn't completely detest him, a fact she did not want to face. And she wanted even less to let _him_ know that. She knew that he had planned this moment, the problem was she couldn't figure out what he gained—if anything—if she were to say that she would have preferred to die.

She felt like they were playing chess, only by a more complex set of rules, ones she didn't know. It was frustrating, because he was expecting her to make her move, and she certainly didn't want to find out what happened at "Checkmate."

She found a third option though, as creative people often do.

"A soul for a soul? I would have still had to lose one of them. And my life" They were speaking of the death of the souls of her two dearest friends, or herself, and she managed a grin at the defeat that flashed momentarily in his eyes. He stepped backwards and fell onto the couch with a cloud of dust that made her sneeze.

"It may not be a good choice Lyds, but it was a choice." His eyes were cold and hard and she felt heat in flare the pit of her stomach. She wished desperately she could attribute it to anger. "Would you have made it? You said you wanted to die."

"I wanted to cross over, to be with the Maitlands. The point is moot if it means losing my soul, or even that one of them was gone anyway. And if memory serves the price for you bringing me over there was only letting you out." She pointed out, taking a step backwards. She was hungry but she wasn't going to eat around him again. That had obviously been a mistake.

She could wait a few hours to eat if it meant the food would stay down.

She wished they'd told her how to put him back in, surely there was some way to do that. Or at the very least a manual she could read. She felt...incomplete and in danger knowing only half the rules of this strange game they were playing.

It was a dangerous game, that much she knew for certain.

**I AM A LINE.****I AM A LINE.****I AM A LINE.****I AM A LINE.****I AM A LINE.****I AM A LINE.****I AM A LINE.****I AM A LINE.****I AM A LINE.****I AM A LINE.****I AM A LINE.**

**Pardon me while I giggle in my omniscent author way. You all were SO sure she'd let him out again! I was laughing so hard ever time someone mentioned that. In a good way mind you. I love hearing what you guys think's gonna happen and more than once I've snitched an idea from a reviewer's comment. **

**Okay...dunno how popular a phrase like Hobs Choice is, because I tend to live in the 40s despite the fact neither of my parents were even alive then. Hobson was a guy who owned a stable and people would come to rent the horses basically and there were tons of GREAT horeses, but he'd only let people choose the one nearest the stable door. So it's basically no choice at all. "You can take any horse at all, so long as it's this one." **

**Also, I kind of gave a nod to the song that was playing--since loads of the great writers in this section talk about the songs they were listening to. "Dangerous Game." Great song. Fits this coupling well I think.**


	6. Chapter 6

**I still don't own any of the characters you like. Promise I'll return them when I'm done with them.**

_**I'm a line because stupid selfish fanfiction still isn't working. "Blah blah blah, I'm fanfiction, I don't care that authors can't use the line function anymore, even if they need to."  
**_

"Lyds." His voice was husky and deep and she nearly screamed. She had been scrubbing out the oven, having long since turning to cleaning so she could avoid dealing with the freed ghost she had confined to her dorm.

Now, he was suddenly right behind her and when she leaped into a standing position she found her back pressed along the entire line of his front. She had shed her sweater when she was dusting out the cupboards earlier and now she was all too aware of the tank top underneath.

She had only worn it because the AC was broken in the English Building and they were lucky if it was only eighty degrees...that was...oh surely a thousand years ago.

His fingers were cold and impossibly long as they ghosted over the flesh of her shoulder and she jerked forward and twisted, which turned out to be a worse idea. Now she was face to face with him, confined into the corner between her oven and the wall, with a six hundred year old ghost blocking her way.

And it was becoming more and more difficult to ignore the blossoming heat in her chest whenever he was near.

It was truly his eyes that did her in though. Green and gold and hooded and looking at her. Only her and no one else in the world, because in this moment there was only the two of them. She could hardly draw breath.

"What?" She hated herself for how breathless she sounded.

He ducked his head, bringing them nose to nose. If she leaned back any farther she feared she would be pinned with her back against the counter top.

"Are you going to just clean for another six hours?" He asked, and she felt breath stir her dark bangs. Vaguely in the back of her mind she wondered where the air came from since she knew he didn't breathe. Until he spoke though she hadn't realized just how long she had spent scrubbing away every inch of dirt she could find.

She remembered a call from Grace, whose voice trembled very slightly as she told Lydia that she was going to stay with friends that night. Lydia couldn't blame her.

Outside it was dark as pitch and when she paused a moment from keeping herself too busy to think she realized how tired she was. She fought back a yawn and rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. "No." She managed to whisper.

Why was she so effected by this ma—_ghost. _Whatever he was doing, he was doing for himself. It was some plan to get himself free of the watch and free of the rules and free to torture and torment. Those were the only things he loved, or cared about at all.

He was playing a game with her, well, she wouldn't be a pawn. "I asked you not to call me that, we're not friends." She snapped, shouldering past him and walking to the small bathroom to brush her teeth. She was going to go to sleep and while she was asleep she would command him to sit on the couch and not move or make a sound.

"I'm hurt Lyds." He appeared in front of her, taller now that he was floating a foot off the floor.

"You're dead."

"I still have feelings." He pouted in a way that would have been endearing if she didn't know better.

"Fine Beetlejuice," She took pleasure in the fact that he still winced at his name, something worried him at the very least—even if it didn't have power over him anymore. "if we're as good of friends as you think, what's my middle name?" She skirted around him and into the bathroom. She brushed her teeth and then moved to her room and closed herself in to change.

Flannel pants and an over-sized shirt that used to advertise Pink Floyd served as pajamas. The shirt now hung crooked on her small frame and the lettering had faded after a thousand washings to read "P nk F od". It had belonged to her mother once. She left her hair was loose around her. It had grown long and thick since she stopped torturing it into intricate styles.

"Beej, I'm not in the mood, please I just want to go to bed." She explained, and you could hear the exhaustion in her voice. He was watching some infomercial on the television and had the sound turned up much too loud. She moved forward to grab the watch off the table but when she saw his face she paused and asked what the matter was. He looked confused and maybe a little nervous. His green eyes were wide and his jaw just barely slack. She was fairly sure that if any blood coursed through his veins it would have drained out of his face.

"What did you call me?" He asked. She was on guard now, certain this was some trick of his trying to convince her that since he was up and about it wasn't necrophelia or something equally unwelcome. She hadn't figured out his scheme yet but she was certain there had to be one.

"What? Beej? Is it all that offensive?" She asked, contemplating just going to sleep, she was certain she had some earplugs somewhere. His face struggled to adopt it's normal look, but finally he settled for scooting over, making enough room for her to sit on the couch with him.

"No, just thought we weren't friends." He murmured huskily. "Sit down." She remained standing, and he shrugged like her rejection didn't matter.

"I suppose offering to take you to the Other Side if you let me out won't work anymore." He said looking at her with a beaten look on his features.

"No." He nodded, like that was not only what he had expected but perfectly alright.

Understandable even.

"So they finally found a way to limit your power that you can trick your way out of?" She asked, settling into the chair, watching him carefully.

"Before this it was the three name thing, I was in mirrors before that, shadows before that. I get out of all of 'em Babes, and I'd go back to any of them rather than this."

The admission startled her, both because it honestly seemed like the truth--his shoulders sagged suddenly--and because it didn't seem like a trick, just simple truth admitted because she was the only one who would listen. Something inside her cracked a little at that and she wasn't certain if it was her heart, her resolve, or even her certainty that he was simply using her to escape.

The ghost from her childhood was strong and sure and manic. He did things as they popped into his head and then moved on to the next thing without any actual thought. This ghost before her looked...beaten. One of those people who thought they could never lose, suddenly scared and small and broken because they've finally lost.

Lydia didn't know what to say.

What _did_ you say to a ghost who had been unbeatable and terrifyingly powerful who was sitting on you couch looking like he'd commit suicide if he only could. She stood slowly, unconscious habit making her hike up one side of the flannel pants. They were too big for her tiny frame but she loved them.

She sat down beside him, startling herself with the action as much as him.

Their shoulders were touching.

"Emma."

He tilted his head to look at her through a mess of blond tangles.

Lydia could only shrug, confused herself why she was acting this way.

"My middle name." She explained simply, refusing to look at him and instead, looking at her upturned palms, carefully tucked in her lap. She felt him shift next to her and when he spoke she could feel his rough voice shiver deliciously through her bones.

"Does that mean we're friends?" He asked, and she could hear a little of the old Beetlejuice coming back with those five words and she knew that she'd made the right move, at least this time.

"It means that my middle name is Emma." She told him firmly, scooting away so her back was against the opposite arm and her knees were bent, keeping her toes just that far from touching his thigh. He was amazed—momentarily—at how small her feet were, he'd heard an author that hired him once call small, delicate feet like that pixi feet.

He had never understood it unitl that very moment.

"When you go to work voluntarily for the Administration they take your name from you, give you a different one so they hold power over you. It's how they have enough power to keep binding me now that I don't work for them anymore."

She had always wondered as a child what sort of name Betelgeuse was.

"So I can't tell you _that. _ I don't even know it anymore." She wanted to tell him to stop, she couldn't imagine how terrible it was to not know your own name any longer. Not to know your name and to know that the people who have it use it against you.

It was like something out of a storybook.

"Have you ever thought of looking for it, trying to find it out. I mean if you learn it they don't have power over you." She stopped herself. What was the matter with her, he was dangerous and unpredictable and yet here she was helping him trying to devise away to escape the clutches of those who control him.

He was grinning at her, she could _feel it_, no need to look. He'd caught the same thing she did, that she had just offered up help in a small way.

"I've been searching for it for over two hundred years Babes." He said, and she started, nearly jumping out of her skin when his cold fingers brushed against her ankle. She sucked in a breath instead, a slight hiss filling the sudden silence. "Do I make you nervous?" He asked, his voice warm and dark.

"You're freezing." She hissed. She looked up at him with venom in her eyes and her fury cooled when she saw his face. A soft smile that was more sad than anything and an accepting look in his eyes.

"I'm dead, comes with the territory." He told her, and it sounded, just for a brief second, like an apology. All it served to do was remind Lydia that he was dead, and he wanted out, and he would do anything—_anything—_to get out.

He turned the television down to a level that wasn't deafening.

"Bye Babes." He said as she stood up, stretching and yawning. With the television quieter she could finally sleep, comfortably and in her own bed. It seemed like years since the last time she'd slept well.

"I'm just going to sleep, not like I'm leaving."

"I am." She started, and then remembered, there was only about five hours left for him on the watch, and if she had anything to say about it she'd sleep at least five hours. Honestly she wanted to sleep for a month. Once more she was left not knowing what to say to him. She was confused by how soft the admission was.

"Beetlejuice." She tried, and she sneezed at the itch in her nose when he drew power to him and then suddenly he was beside her at the door to her room. His cold fingers trailed along her cheek with a feather-light touch and for a moment she wondered what was so bad about being prey. Her head tilted up and her lips parted ever-so-slightly and she didn't know she moved at all.

"Sleep well." She snapped back to reality in an instant and nodded dully; the door clicked when she closed it behind her. Left alone in the small hall Betelgeuse smiled. She had forgotten to issue any commands. That was a good sign.

Of course, she'd long ago told him he couldn't leave this dorm. But after that...

His grin was wicked.

She had said _please_ of all things. He had to stop himself from cackling out loud, he'd gotten this far, no reason to screw it up _now_.

Of course he almost had. He wasn't sure why but there were a few times there, when she'd tilted her head back and her eyes got dark and warm and rich and a million other things that he'd forgotten the act.

She'd thrown him for a loop when she told him her middle name, and he certainly had _no _idea why he had told her that bit about his name. Honestly he'd long since stopped caring about his stupid name, there were always other ways to get out of a situation. But when he'd touched her and she recoiled like it was so terrible...he had felt hurt and apologetic of all things.

He was unsure of this—guilt?--at what he planned to do.

So what if he used her, she'd done the same to him a lifetime ago when she was young. The way he saw it she was lucky he found a different way, that didn't involve marriage to him.

After all, the idea seemed to disturb her so much.

Or it used to he supposed with a lecherous grin remebering lips offered to him like a sacrificial lamb.

He knew that look in her eyes right before he'd been sucked back into his own private hell the last time, the one that had been magnified just a moment ago. Her lips parted ever so slightly, she was ready, _waiting _for him to kiss her. He grinned again and this time couldn't stop a soft chortle. He'd thought this was going to be difficult with the hell he'd caused her when she was still just a kid, but at this rate he'd be free by the end of the month, if that. He grinned and brushed off the front of his suit. Make that_ the end of the week!_

Well, he supposed, that might be more difficult, this was love after all, if it was lust, he might be free now if he'd dare open that door.

He wondered at that thought for a moment, weighing the risk to his freedom.

It had been...he hadn't had a _warm _woman since before he died.

_Rough cotton, dirty, mud. _

_He remembered the mud most of all, outside the tavern it was dark and raining and you could smell the wet horses that had churned the dirt road into a mud puddle. She'd cost less than a warm drink, more than a bowl of stew._

Freedom was better than a woman in his bed though, or him in a woman's bed in this case. Once he was free he could have anyone he wanted.

Well, except for Lydia. There was that strange pang of guilt or remorse again. That was getting annoying.

He grinned and flopped onto her couch, which groaned in protest.

Either way there was nothing else he could do just now, and it had been a long while since he could sit back and watch television. It didn't even matter that there was nothing on, you didn't watch TV to be entertained, but to fill your mind with useless thoughts, thoughts that would hopefully drive away everything else.

Like that warm feeling in his belly when Lydia gave him that _look_. He didn't even think she knew she was doing it. Dark and smoky. Innocent and alluring all at once. Not that he cared. All that mattered was getting himself out of this private hell.

_**I'm a line because stupid selfish fanfiction still isn't working. "Blah blah blah, I'm fanfiction, I don't care that authors can't use the line function anymore, even if they need to."**_

**Normally I do reader response here, but I seem to have a habit of just messaging you anyway. So...pretend that whatever message I sent you last time is here instead of in your inbox 'k?**


	7. Chapter 7

**Okay, next chapter may take longer to put up than these previous ones, A) I've really been neglecting other stories and B) There's a lot that's going to happen and I'm not sure in which order it should happen so I've got a bunch of scenes written and just keep rearranging them. **

**I don't own the characters that you like.**

**This chapter written while listening to: _Hard to Handle _By Black Crows  
**

**_I am a line_  
**

She woke slowly and stretched languidly, relishing the feel of a good, and long night's sleep. It seemed like it had been months since she slept properly.

Her window was cracked open very slightly, and crisp cool air blew in gently, carrying with it the scent of grease and the sounds of the parking lot outside. Of course it was the small one reserved for the students with motorcycles so all she could hear was the sound of screaming engines. She rolled over and tucked her head under her pillow.

She felt a bit like sleeping beauty at this point but she didn't care how long she had been asleep, there was so much less to worry about when she was dreaming.

"Lyds?"

Lydia's heart jumped into her throat and she sat up, hair rumpled and a mark from her pillow across one cheek. It startled her to realize that she was _hopeful. _

Her bedroom door was opened a crack and Grace was peering in, as though expecting a monster to leap out of a shadow. Lydia couldn't blame her, but her heart did sink into her shoes for other reasons.

"Hey Gracie." Lydia's voice startled her with how craggy it was and she cleared her throat twice before trying the greeting again. Grace hobbled into the room and settled herself on the foot of the bed. There was a question in her eyes and she looked too terrified to ask, it didn't matter, Lydia knew the answer.

"He's gone." Lydia glanced at her watch, it was nearly noon, he was long gone. She felt incomplete and realized that she didn't hate herself for missing him. That was more startling than anything. Grace stared openly at Lydia for several long moments, as though waiting for her to say something else.

"You're not telling me something." She said suddenly. Her eyes sad, as if she knew what Lydia wasn't saying.

"I condensed my life into a minute-long speech while I was certain you were going into shock, I left a lot out." It was the truth.

"No. You miss him. So something's happened between when he _haunted _you and now." Lydia sighed and flopped back into bed. She was too tired of lies, too tired to fight and she needed a friend now more than ever.

She spilled the whole story, moving to Connecticut after her father's nerves went, tearing apart the house, finding the Maitlands, the giant snake that nearly killed her father, and even the part when she almost released him because he was going to bring her into the Afterlife. She explained how a few months later They came with the Watch, and how she wore it to class, and then put it away. "After your accident, the moment we were back home I started wearing it again. But I never ever considered letting him out, it was just...comforting to have that sort of power."

Grace smiled, her eyes soft and strong all at once. She was used to people worrying for her. She was used to comforting other people about her injury. The addition of a psychotic ghost was new. But the feelings were old news. She crawled up the bed and dragged Lydia bodily into a hug. Releasing her only when the other girl started gasping for air, and the two spent a moment giggling together.

Lydia started speaking again, determined to finish her story. "Then, remember the bank that was robbed? I was in there. They tried to take the watch. I let him out, and he saved me, and the money, and all the people in the bank. I wanted to thank him so I let him out again...He's completely different now though."

Lydia sighed heavily.

"Well, no he's still a disgusting, perverted and powerful ghost, but he's...there's something..." She searched for the right words. "He's not scary anymore, he is dark and...and elegant maybe." She sighed and shook her head.

"He's a smart assed bastard and more often than not I want to hit him with the business end of a shovel. But now it makes me smile rather than scaring me like it once did. It doesn't make me nearly as angry as I wish it did, and I wish it did because I know that if he cares for me at all it's fake because all he wants is to be free of all the restrictions. It doesn't matter how restricted or not he is he wants out of it and for some reason his way out always seems to involve me." Lydia exploded, she spoke quickly and in a higher pitch than her throat was used to, she was on the edge of being hysterical.

Rightly so. She realized that she was starting to care for someone who was using her. And despite the knowledge that he was using her, she still cared for him, and that scared her. Beetlejuice might be bound in a watch for all eternity and he may have to obey any command that she gave him, but that was nothing at all. He could fight the commands she was certain of it. She was certain of it because she knew how powerful he could be, she'd felt it in the bank that day.

He had a chance of fighting and of redemption—slim though it was.

She was lost forever and she knew it. He was using her and he didn't care a wit about her and she could feel it in her chest that she cared more than she should already. She was lost to those green eyes and she would care for him no matter what he did to her.

She didn't think he realized what kind of power he held over her, and she knew that was dangerous for her. It was much better for her that he didn't realize just how much power he held over her—though saying "please" hadn't helped much.

"Oh." The word was more a breath than anything else, sighed out as Grace realized fully what was happening to her friend. "_Oooh_." She pulled Lydia into another hug, softer this time and filled with compassion. "So what are you going to do?" She asked after a long moment, and all Lydia could do was look up at her with large, sad eyes. There was only one thing she could do.

_**I am also a line.**_

Inside the Watch was unlike any previous punishments Beetlejuice had suffered. With most of the other punishments he had suffered he at least had a small home in the Afterlife, just an apartment out of time really with all the little things he had collected over the years.

When he was first starting out, his routine haunting for a hundred and twenty-five years, he'd found that the only thing he was allowed to touch—that was before they'd changed the rules in the 17th century—were small little trinkets. He'd nabbed coins mostly, and jewelry from the fine ladies he occasionally saw.

He probably still had all those little things back in his space, but it wasn't as though he had any way of actually returning there. Not until he got away from that damned watch.

Not that it was a bad _watch _really he'd stolen it from the first person he helped after escaping from Juno and the Administration's constricting rules. Nice man if not a bit trusting, had the best brandy.

Here...in this place, all he had was endless chilly darkness. There was nothing to do, at all. And not that ghosts needed to sleep but there wasn't a place to lay down even if he wanted to nap, just for a little.

He couldn't move at all.

He could only float, immobile, in the darkness, and he could feel the cold, penetrating to his very bones.

He would face a thousand Sandworms to escape this darkness.

He would play pet to Lydia and bow and scrape and do whatever she wanted for the chance to be free. She wasn't really a bad sort, he rather liked her as far as the living went, but he would get out of here and if she suffered because of that he would feel guilty—a strange sensation that—and move on with his Afterlife.

There would be other girls. He paused and shook his head—or he would have if he could move—no, Lydia wasn't a girl, not any longer. She'd grown up, become a woman while he was trapped in this Hell.

There would be other women too though, and other sandwiches and other couches. Other almost-kisses.

No there wouldn't because when he was free there'd be no _almost _anything.

He didn't like the small part of him that seemed to think an almost-something from Lydia was better than a something from any other woman. She did that, brought out the worst in him. She made him be polite and she made him feel guilty and she made him..._want_.

He didn't want her, or the manners and honor and better part of _life _that she carried with her. Being dead was fine by him. Sure being in the Afterlife could stink, but that was only when you were trapped within the system, being a ghost suited him just fine.

_Just fine!_

That was until some mortal _broad _wrecked his Afterlife with her two dead friends. He would have growled if he could.

He didn't need warm flesh or soft brown eyes. He didn't need tiny curves and pixi feet. He didn't need Lydia Deetz...

Well he did but not for _that_. Not for anything beyond getting free, and if he could have used anyone else in this world or any other he would have.

The image of her as he saw her last flickered into his mind. Head tilted back just a little, hair falling away from bare shoulders, lips parted.

_Want._

She'd wanted him in that moment, she'd _wanted him_.

But was it love? Maybe not. And it had to be given, not taken. That was something he wasn't used to, people didn't give him anything, he had to take it if he wanted it, that was how it had been in life, and that was how it was in his Afterlife.

He hated these pangs of guilt and remorse. No one felt guilty when they took what they wanted from him, Lydia included.

Well...she had thanked him, but what was that really? She'd promised to marry him, to free him once and for all, and instead he'd wound up here...

Pun intended.

She'd free him eventually though, he'd see to that.

**_Look! Elivs! _**

**I contact most of you with the PM feature, because I do adore talkin' to my readers, hence why I post all the places you can find me over in my profile, but of course some people don't have the PM feature so I answer them here: which is just as fun!**

**Evil Girl Child -- **Aw, you're too kind! I'm glad you like my story so much!


	8. Chapter 8

**I don't own the characters you like. **

** This is dedicated to Llewlyn 'cause she doesn't feel good! Everyone should send her hugs.**

**This was written to Nekreschennaya Luna -- Yes I listen to russian music.**

_**What is with this stupid lines not working. I still love you Fanfiction (Lovely, free fanfiction) but come on! I need my lines!**_

Fairy stories are, more often than not, based on fact from the Afterlife. Some mortal got a ghost in their house that left the handbook out, or maybe they were like Lydia and made friends with their less-than-lively roommate.

Either way, a lot of fairy stories happened to mirror some of the rules of the Afterlife. And Beetlejuice had known them all once.

He knew that "True Love's Kiss" would break this lock, because who could love a monster like him? Well Lydia seemed to.

Sure she'd take his place in the watch, in this hell, but she deserved it. She had reneged on her promise and where he came from, in the life he'd left behind, your word was all you really had. She'd screwed him over, and now he was just doing the same to her, what was so wrong with that?

Nothin'! That's what. Absolutely nothin', she'd be in love with him soon, if not already and she'd let him out and he'd just sit back and wait for her to kiss him. Then she'd get sucked into the Watch and he'd be free once more to wreak havoc on the living.

Sure she was attractive, and she was the only mortal in a long time he'd honestly liked. But she owed him—the way he figured—and it was about time she paid up on her debt.

_**What is with this stupid lines not working. I still love you Fanfiction (Lovely, free fanfiction) but come on! I need my lines!**_

For two impossibly long weeks Grace watched her roommate trudge listlessly around campus and sigh and mope.

At the end of those two weeks, she got fed up, and apologetic. She felt as though it were her fault that Lydia refused to let the ghost she obviously cared for out again, after all, Grace hadn't really taken his sudden appearance in their room all too well.

It had been a long hard day of being tortured endlessly by doctors—never enjoyable—and then she'd come home finally and there'd been a strange man invading that precious space. But Grace cared more for her friends than herself and while she was still on edge about ghosts—now she started at every bump and creak—she knew Lydia was miserable.

Injured as she was so early in life Grace was used to people trying to do everything for her, and she let them, but sometimes she needed a life of her own, and she'd gotten rather good at sneaking about even with the cane, sneaking downstairs to use her mother's kitchen or the washer and dryer, sneaking around the mall to get her clothing without help.

Her sister joked that Grace would have made a lovely cat burglar.

She had to wait until Lydia was asleep before she could take the Watch—which was not the hard part. The hard part was finding something for them to do, at first Grace was planning to make a large batch of food, set out some candles and maybe put on some music, but then she recalled that her stereo was on the fritz and Lydia had complained endlessly about his manners when he ate.

Food was out, they didn't need to argue so much as they needed to talk. Coffee was a bit trite in Grace's opinion—and they didn't have a coffeemaker because Grace couldn't have caffine and Lydia didn't want to torture her.

Then Grace remembered. Her parents went on a second honeymoon the moment Grace—the baby of the family—was in college. Touring Europe.

The Mouton Rothschild vintage 1969. They'd bought it in London to celebrate Grace's 21st. They'd paid three hundred dollars for it. Grace had no taste for wine and had planned to save it for her wedding at the very least.

She would rather share it anyway, she knew what she liked and rich red wine was not it. If she was going to drink she rather liked champagne, a rare treat for the time between medications.

She lifted the bottle out of it's special place in her room and put it away to chill. Lydia would be back from her class just in time for it to be the perfect temperature and then there were some chocolates that Lily had sent her from Switzerland that would go perfectly with the wine—and they were small, he couldn't be so disgusting as to wreak those for Lydia.

Then again she hadn't seen him eat...

_Oh well, getting drunk could be good for the pair._

Of course at that point she wondered if a ghost could get drunk at all. Well, Lydia could stand to get drunk and loosen up at the very least so it was good either way. Grace loved Lydia like a sister but the darker girl could be so reserved at times. Getting completely sloshed might be a better help than even just talking things out.

There were less chocolates than she remembered in the tiny box, and Grace smiled guiltily at it remembering how good they tasted. Still, they were the rich, dark kind filled with special cream so you really shouldn't eat too many at once as it was. Well, she could eat a whole box, but saying it made her feel less terrible about leaving only four...

...two. It was a long wait for Lydia to come home.

The doors in the dorm locked automatically behind you as a safety measure, provided you didn't forget your keys, and so when Grace heard Lydia's key in the lock she grabbed her own, walked to the door, spun the stem of the Watch between her fingers and thrust it at Lydia as the door opened and she dashed out into the hall—well maybe dashed wasn't the best word for whatever it was she did.

Their small table had been moved to the center of the room and two candles sat on it and the lights had been dimmed to cast a warm glow in the room—it would have been more romantic if the candles had been lit but that was against dorm rules and the girls three doors down had learned the hard way how sensitive the smoke detectors were.

And suddenly Lydia was alone, the door caught against her shoulder as she stood dumbfounded, looking over the scene. Beetlejuice was already in one of the chairs, the chilled bottle of wine in one hand as he inspected the label.

It struck her as odd that he would know anything about wine at all, but so many of the things he did recently struck her as odd.

She recalled the sensation of his fingers on her flesh, and shivered despite herself. He looked so large compared to their too small furniture. His legs stretched out under the table, nearly under the empty seat across from him. He was much thinner than she remembered from her childhood and she wondered if the potbelly had just been part of whatever scary persona he wanted to convey.

She hesitated to think that it was because of being in the Watch, she didn't want to worry about him starving and wasting away in there.

His face was longer with the weight missing and it made his high cheekbones stand out under his sunken in eyes. His lips were pale and nearly vanished against his paler skin, she supposed that was due to the fact that no blood ran through his veins.

His hair was unchanged from the way she remembered it. Wild and untamed and pale blond, like butter or sunlight. It comforted her to know that at least that was unchanged, just like his eyes...eyes that were green fire. Fire that sparked heat low and deep in her stomach with a power that no longer surprised her, merely frightened her that she couldn't control it.

How was she supposed to protect herself if he had this affect on her when he wasn't even looking at her?

"Mouton Rothschild. You've got good taste." Lydia didn't even realize he was speaking about the wine for a moment.

"It's not mine. Grace...gave it to..." She stumbled over saying "us" it was too much of a commitment to think of them as an "us". "Me." She settled on finally. "You can have a glass, if you like." Grace had left out glasses. They didn't have glasses fit for fine wine but at least Grace had found real glass ones, rather than the plastic "big gulp" cups they normally used.

"I thought you'd never ask." His voice was low and dark and heady and she felt her knees weaken. She gripped the door-frame to hold herself up and watched as he popped the cork easily and sniffed the wine before pouring her glass first. The sound of the wine rippling out of the bottle filled the still room and Lydia managed to make it to the waiting chair without falling. She settled herself carefully. His glass was filled now and he lifted it over the unlit candles.

"What are we toasting?" She asked, lifting her own glass.

"I'd say our health but that's a lost cause for me." He flashed a crooked grin that showed more teeth than normal and she felt herself smiling in turn, a soft and tiny thing, a fledgling smile filled with hope. "To your health." He amended, and knocked his glass against hers. "Ching, ching."

It was so low and unexpected that Lydia wasn't certain she heard correctly.

"It's just something they used to say." Her face must have openly expressed her confusion. "I lived in Italy, it's just something they say when they toast, I don't know why, but it's supposed to imitate the sounds of the glasses clinking." He said after they each had their first sip.

It tasted of Vanilla and oak and blackberries.

Then it suddenly struck her the weight of what he had said.

"You lived in Italy?" She asked, her voice dropping an octave on the word "lived." He smiled ruefully as though he hadn't meant to admit that to her and nodded.

"Yup babes. Wasn't born there, but I was a servant in those days and the family I worked for moved there so I followed, where else would I go?" He shrugged it off and took a long drink of the wine, and she found herself enraptured by the way his lips gained sudden color and the movement of his throat as he swallowed.

She wanted to know more, she was _desperate _to know more about this strange man. She finished the glass in front of her and she could feel her muscles loosening already and finally asked without thinking. "What happened to you Beetlejuice?"

He froze at the sound of his name on her lips. He had been smiling because he could tell already that she was a lightweight, but the sound of his name in that hushed voice with her eyes dusky as always and her cheeks already flushed.

"I _died. _ It's sort of a requirement of bein' a ghost. Lived 'round the 14th century."

"Did you die in the plague?" She had asked the Maitlands to tell her about him, but they'd just said he was a horrible, disgusting pervert. He shook his head and poured more wine for the both of them even though her glass hadn't emptied yet.

"Really it's the sort of story that should be told over Vodka but..." He sighed, took a deep drink straight from the bottle—it didn't help; he couldn't get drunk anymore—and started his tale.

_**What is with this stupid lines not working. I still love you Fanfiction (Lovely, free fanfiction) but come on! I need my lines!**_

I know you all hate me for leaving it there, but I wanted to have a full chapter so your attention was ONLY on his story, not on some of the other things I revealed in this chapter. _**cough.**_

As usual I respond mostly to you in PMs, cause I 3 you all tons, but some of you don't have accounts here, so I'll talk to you here.

**inthearmynow -- **It was hilarious, I laughed when I first read your review because I was planning to describe him in a lot of detail later--but then I realized that he was alive in that one and so it was different. So I added this part here for you, basically I just slimmed him down, figuring that it was likely that if he could be pudgy in the afterlife he could lose weight from not eating, however often they need to eat. And my TV's not so good, and it's old, so I can never tell what that stuff on his face is supposed to be--or even what color it is--so I just left that off, other'n that it's the same. That's the one we all know and love. Other than that I'm glad you like it :)


	9. Chapter 9

**I was so excited by Llewlyn's completion of her story I just HAD to post this, because this is my favorite chapter so far and I'm really really thrilled by how it came out.**

**Plus I'm going away for the long weekend so I figured I owed you all SOMETHING.**

**_I would really, really really like to see the line feature fixed eventually. But it's kind of nice to get a small space to rant to my readers._  
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I've mentioned already that I was a servant and that much is true. And I did live through the plague, _through _mind you. No one back then could really figure but some people were just spared the torture of having to die like that. I was one of those few.

I worked for an old and wealthy family, big too, five girls and a boy, the parents were a Count and Countess if you can believe, I had done really well for myself. They were a nice family who had some shred of respect for their servants, more than others of the time to say the very least. Anyway, they moved to Italy shortly after I started working for them and like any good servant I followed. The plague hit barely three months after we got there. And only a month after we realized what was happening, the wife and son took ill.

_Lydia watched his mouth with rapt attention as he talked. There was a pleasant warmth settling into her bones as she drained her glass. Every time her glass was almost empty, without missing a beat Betelgeuse was already filling it. _

_He was speaking softly and his lips curled up at the corners, a hidden smile in response to her nearly goofy one._

They died within hours of each other.

_He swirled his wine around in his glass and Lydia wondered if she actually heard remorse in his voice. _

The boy was just a kid, barely ten if that and the wife was always rather weak and sickly, these days she would've been fine o'course but back then there was barely medicine. The father—a businessman working with the trading companies, was slowly dying too, but that was due to losing his money, with the plague no one wanted to trade with anyone. He did love her, but he knew that he couldn't mourn for too long.

His family was still in danger and he had to protect the ones still alive.

Back in those days we didn't know much about medicine but we could figure out that there was a correlation between being around someone with the plague and getting it yourself. That's why you read about all those families who got sealed into their homes by scared villagers. And the plague doctors, a freaky bunch those! Wonderin' around in those masks crammed full of herbs and incense. They figured right about it being airborne but thought if they filled themselves with the scent of something else they were protected.

You couldn't even get them when you wanted 'em though so it wasn't like they were any help at all other than scaring the hell out of the few little kids still around. That and killing people. Most of their cures you read today did more harm than good, killed people faster than the plague even though in less painful ways so maybe they were a blessing.

_Lydia had seen pictures of what the Plague doctors looked like and she had heard about what methods they used. Most of them did nothing, but there was a cure that involved laxitives, trying to get a person to completely clear their system of the disease, and that just served to dehydrate people. _

_It was the other cure that had always unnerved Lydia, rubbing the patient with mercury—which was dangerous enough but often times not deadly—and then baking them. Putting them in a large oven and heating it up. If the patient survived they went mad from the mercury or wished they were dead because of the burns. Even today burns were difficult to hear._

_She couldn't recall how he had talked her into it—or maybe she had suggested it her mind was a little fuzzy. Either way the bottle and their glasses had ended up on the couch, his feet propped up on the table and her body curled against his, her head on his shoulder as she sipped delicately at the endless glass of wine._

No one was talking to anyone and everyone was scared out of their minds. If you wanted spiritual help you were screwed, the kings and queens and popes and cardinals all bolted to places that didn't suffer the plague, hiding away in their huge palaces with enough food to last them as long as they needed.

They treated it as though they were under siege, which I suppose they were.

The Count had enough money and pull left to bring his family out to the remote countryside and he left his five daughters there with a handful of servants and himself.

Things were boring but good for us for a long while. We were lucky and even dared to be happy for almost six months before the youngest daughter got sick.

I never found out what happened to her.

The Count wrapped her in blankets put her in a carriage an disappeared for a few months—which wasn't so odd back then. We didn't have cars or planes or trains, you had to ride or walk and that could take weeks. He came back alone with a different horse and said she had died.

Nothing more.

The histories tell you a lot of things but they fail to mention something unprecedented that happen, I can't imagine that people didn't record it, but they just don't mention it a lot.

All these noblewomen who thought they had it, thought they were going to die of this horrible and painful disease—and a few who just realized how short life could be, they all had their own reasons—started loosening the rigid confines of their life. They actually would take any man handy into their bed, desperate to be free of the constricting rules of society before they kicked off.

_He grinned and even before he reached that part in his story she could tell that the daughters of the household had looked to him in helping them with that task. She felt the cold fingers of jealousy twist in the pit of her stomach and gulped at her wine, desperate for it's warmth._

Another daughter contracted pneumonia or something, not the plague, and she died in her sleep with a fever. The youngest was ten and I'm not that sick, but the other two...sixteen and nineteen. I think their names were Mary and Ann, or Elizabeth or something. It doesn't matter.

When the outbreak of the plague was over and we were all brought back into Italy. A lot of women started joining these other fornicators or at least sticking with it and a lot of women took their out where they saw it. The Count still had a lot of pull and he managed to find wealthy husbands for the both of them in countries that hadn't been touched by the plague.

They had a problem now and they took their chance. Can't say I blame them really.

They said I bewitched them, coerced them, forced them.

It was all my fault and if they would testify the Church would restore their virginity, because the Church could do that. So I was caught and tried and they decided to hang me, which was actually a huge public event. None of the other women would come forward, or had survived, or their partners hadn't survived, so I had to be an example for all of them. The church saying "We'll find you eventually!"

_He waggled his finger at her, and she merely stared at him, listening to his story. She knew what was coming, but still she mourned for the man who had died to protect the secret of these two girls. Two scared little girls who had just wanted some enjoyment before they died—because at sixteen they were certain they would die._

Never did of course, I was one of a handful of people actually caught and punished.

I was always disappointed, there was this painter there who supposedly painted the scene and got to be vaguely famous, but the painting never caught on, not like the Mona Lisa or anything. Francisco Caravello I think was his name.

_Lydia wondered what the painting looked like, she wondered what Betelgeuse had looked like when he was alive, and abscently her fingers lifted to stroke the soft flesh by his ear, trying to picture him as he must have been once. Trying to see the man that two noblewomen had risked their lives for. He started under her touch and stumble in the course of his tale, glancing down at her out of the corner of his eye._

_She smiled lazily up at him and tucked her knees against his hip. There was a pleasant buzz filling her body from the wine. _

_It should have been odd to be curled up against someone who was not breathing and had no beating heart, but it seemed so natural to her. She could hear his voice rumbling in his chest and his arm was draped haphazardly over her shoulders and he was strong and calm and safe._

_She could have spent the rest of her life here, in the cool safety of his arm, listening to him tell her stories._

Anyway, before I was hung the Count pressed his ring into my hand as I was lead past them.

_He stretched his arms in front of her and pointed to the glittering ring on his finger. She had always wondered about it, and now she touched it, inspected it, and realized how old it was. In the back of her mind she wondered how he had held onto it for so long, and how he had kept it so shinny over the long years._

_She wondered why he had kept it, he certainly didn't seem like the nostalgic type, especially since this was from the man that had allowed him to die._

_Lydia wondered if Betelgeuse would have turned out differently if he had died differently. She realized that she liked him the way he was, even the parts of him that she should have feared or hated, the part of him where she _knew _he was using her somehow to free him, she still liked him, every bit of him. And she wouldn't have changed him for anything. _

For forgiveness they said. It was tradition when you'd spoken against someone, condemned them to die. The people were supposed to forgive me for my crimes so that when they finally did croak God would welcome them with opened arms because they'd followed all his teachings.

It was his way of apologizing I think. I think he knew very well what had really happened but that his daughters were more important than one servant and so I had to be the one to suffer in their place.

_Lydia stopped trailing her fingers over his cheek and looked at him, managing to look serious even though they had nearly finished the bottle and Betelgeuse knew he'd only had a fraction of it. He asked her what she was looking at, wishing she would touch him again, it was a strange sensation but it was more welcomed than this odd and infinite look she had turned on him now._

_She told him that she was sorry he had died. She knew that everyone had to die eventually, but he had been killed before his time, and she was sorry for him, and she dropped her head against his shoulder and tucked herself into a small ball of warmth._

_It was strange to have her touching him, she was so very warm, like a radiator or something, but that was the odd part, heaters, fires, none of it gave off any heat to a ghost, not even the ghost with the most. And that was where it got very strange._

_Mortals weren't supposed to give off heat either. It was through_ his _power that they could touch him, that he was a physical thing, so their heat wasn't supposed to affect him, but he could feel every inch of her pressed against his side, the heat flooding through him all the way to his other side._

_He felt himself reluctant to let her go._

_Her breath stirring the hair against his neck slowed, and nearly stilled, deep and even and an alert that she had fallen asleep. He regretted not being able to be drunk, but he did snicker at the headache she would have in the morning. Wine wasn't too bad but she'd nearly had the whole bottle herself on an empty stomach. And she was a lightweight he could tell._

_What surprised him most was that he wished he could help her with it._

_**There's a woman in the wallpaper. She wants out! No one believes me! Ugly, ugly yellow wallpaper.**_

**Points to whomever gets that obscure and strange joke... Points, I'm not good at drabbles! I talk too much for that. I don't know what the points are for so if you've an idea for what you wanna redeem your points for whee!**_  
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**I know it's "hanged" but this is someone speaking and I doubt Beej would get it right you know? Eh. I made up the painter. I was looking through sort of unknown but famous Italian painters but none of them had the style I wanted, so sorry for making one up. Oops. I know I had a closet wine-geek so I hope I don't have closet painter-geeks that I'm injuring:)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Okay...I refuse to apologize for this chapter. I love what I did and if you kill me I can't post the next chapter. Now pardon my happy Jig as I have figured out how to make lines. Bow to my greatness. **

**Fanfiction eats the code I tried to post here to tell you how to get your lines too, so if you want to know, or even care. Just say so in your review and when I respond to it I'll add the directions at the bottom.**

**If your computer deletes the responses as spam I'll post the directions in...well I dunno my LJ I guess is the only place other than here. There's a link in my profile.  
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She woke slowly, her head ached and her whole body felt stiff. Her movements were sluggish, and when she at long last tried to move she found herself firmly held in place. 

She twisted her head and found those green eyes she had become so addicted to watching her closely, inspecting her as though she were something entirely new. "Beetlejuice?" Her voice was a jagged whisper and even soft it made her head throb. The hand not still curled around her shoulders rose slowly and smoothed over her forehead, it was cool and she closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the sensation.

Though the touch of cool did help her headache that was not what she was enjoying so much.

She was enjoying the gentleness of the touch he was bestowing on her. For a moment in time she could believe that he wasn't using her. In this moment he cared about her, at least a little, and he wanted to help her. That was more precious than relief from the pain. More precious than anything.

Her eyes fluttered open when the touch left and she inspected him carefully in the pale light of dawn. His skin had always been pale but now she could see that he wasn't just _pale_ his skin was white and when the light hit it just right it glittered as though he had diamond-dust spread over him.

"You stayed with me." She whispered, startling him. Everything had been so quiet and still for so long, it was strange to hear her speaking. "You could have gone, escaped, probably and been miles away by now. But you stayed." She explained, and he could only blink at her.

When she had fallen asleep he had been ready to leave. She was drunk there was no way he would wake her. But he had stayed. He'd stayed with her all curled up against him, breathing slowly and being all _warm _even though she wasn't supposed to be. He'd sat here for hours watching her breathe and sigh and shift in her sleep.

And before the sun had risen he had come to the realization that he couldn't doom her to the Hell he suffered. He couldn't let that happen to her. She had broken her promise to him, that was true, but she was scared and he hadn't given her another choice. He knew she didn't understand the rules, he knew there were other ways she would try before coming to him, and he knew that most of them wouldn't work in the short amount of time she had to save the Maitlands.

He knew that she cared for them and would have done anything for them and he'd taken advantage of that, and in the years of suffering in the horrible prison of the watch he had latched onto his hate because it was the only thing he had. He had kept it up and planned what he would do if she ever let him out.

He wasn't used to caring in general what happened to the people and ghosts around him. He wasn't used to doing anything but blaming other people and getting what he wanted. But Lydia was different, she was the first person to _care _what had happened to him so long ago. She was the first person to call what he'd done sacrifice.

At the time he had just been doing his duty. He had only wanted power, that was why he had gone into the administration, and there too he had to listen to others tell him what to do. He hadn't had choices in his life and now in his death it seemed he didn't have choices either and that had been too much. So he had taken what power he could and escaped, and when you didn't care for the rules and repercussions you could achieve so much and he had been so powerful and then a little girl and her stupid friends had doomed him to something more terrible.

And he wanted nothing more than revenge. It kept him going when he wanted to give up.

He wanted to give up but he knew that he couldn't there was no way too give up, he was doomed for eternity in that dark place and the only way out was to let her suffer in his place and now he couldn't even do that.

Now she was awake and staring at him and wondering at why he hadn't left her when he had the chance.

He didn't think there was any way to tell her. He couldn't tell her that he cared about her, it was still tender and difficult to admit to himself; so new a feeling. "Thank you."

Before he thought he'd been startled by her small, soft voice, but now he was startled and confused. Why did she have to have this power over him. He didn't mind when she had the Watch, it wasn't his fault he obeyed her then, but when she whispered things like that in her smoky voice he hated the effect it had on him and there was nothing he could blame it on but the heart that wasn't supposed to have moved in six hundred years.

And even prior to his death women had been things, you didn't _care _about them. You took care of them or you used them, there was not this in-between where you wanted to help and you wanted to keep them by your side and you wanted to see them look up at you and smile like that every morning. That thought scared him most of all. Scared him more than Juno and Sandworms and whatever fresh Hell they could come up with after this one.

He tried to talk but only a rough grunt came out, mumbled into her hair as she tucked her head against his shoulder. He couldn't have thought of anything to say even if his tongue would work properly. "I know you could have killed my father that night on the stairs." She whispered after a long silence and she looked up at him through her lashes.

He was certain that if his heart was beating that it would have skipped a beat, or maybe stopped completely.

"But would it make me a terrible person if I liked you all the same?" It wasn't a direct confession of feelings that ran a lot deeper than "like" could possibly describe, but it was as good as one for the two people in the room.

Even a few hours ago he would have pushed the point. He would have had his freedom within seconds, but now everything had been turned end-over-end and he didn't know what to do. So he looked away and made another rough noise in his throat, shrugging his shoulders and trying to act like he didn't care.

"No one likes me Lydia. You've a life ahead of you. _Don't waste it on me._" If that was as close to a confession as she would make, that was as close to warning he would give. He was dangerous to care about for more than a few reasons and he was confused about what he felt for this living girl, but he wasn't going to let her suffer for him. Not any longer.

His life was about making himself happy and for whatever reason, the idea of her suffering made him unhappy.

"It wouldn't be a waste." She whispered, and he didn't dare look in her eyes, he was too frightened by what he may see there. He had a very good idea what he may see, and he could not face it.

"There's a lot you don't know about me Babes." He tried to move his arm, to escape from her inexplicable warmth, but she held him in place with a strength that really shouldn't have surprised him.

"I would like to know." She assured him, wondering why he wouldn't face her. The last time she had been with him he had been on the verge of jumping her, albeit for his own reasons and agendas but still, she could not comprehend what had changed.

Still, the rejection hurt.

"No you wouldn't." He whispered huskily.

"Look at me." He couldn't deny her even though he tried. He was still bound to that God-awful watch and he still had to obey her every command. He fought it, feeling the flickering fire of power struggling against the chains that forced him into action.

Her eyes were large and dark and even without a need for air he found himself drowning. Her tiny hands curled in his shirt and she lifted up onto her knees so they were nearly nose to nose. Scared of what might come next he arched his back, pulling his face as far from hers as he could manage. He could feel her heart hammering against his hollow chest and he gulped.

What was he supposed to do? He cared for the brat who'd screwed him over so long ago, he more than cared for her even if he wasn't about to admit it aloud. He was trying to do the right thing here and still it seemed the fates were conspiring to make him the villain.

"Beetlejuice."

If he didn't know what would happen he would have had her in that second. His name low and breathy on her lips made his chest clench painfully and for a moment there was a roaring in his ears and all he wanted was in this mortal who—compared to him—was just a child.

Memories of burning cold and dark and hate filled his mind and he could not damn her to that no matter how much he wanted her, _craved her_. He could not say when this switch occurred, he could not say if it really happened as he watched dawn play across her face or if it happened when she was a child, staring at him with a lost look and whispering that she wanted to be dead.

He had never understood that, never understood any of the people who committed suicide or prayed for death.

Slightly untrue, he could understand the sickly people, like Miss Argentina's supervisor. He had died of some horribly debilitating cancer and in the last few months not even a double dose of pain medication even dulled the agony he was in as his body died around him.

But Lydia hadn't been in physical pain, she hadn't even been in that severe of emotional pain like Anna who had lost her entire family in the Holocaust and had survived only barely after watching her baby son die in her arms.

Lydia had been a confused young child who had made friends who ghosts, ghosts who seemed to care for her almost better than her own parents. He could understand how she was confused but he still had trouble understanding why she would choose death over life. There were problems in the afterlife all the same, but the difference was there was no escape from those.

He had covered his confusion quickly enough, no use mocking what would help him. Sure he could bring her to the other side, sure he could help her find Barbara and Adam, she had to let him out though, if she did that he could do anything.

He was the Ghost with the Most, he could do whatever she dreamed of.

And somewhere along the way he lost all of his drive and purpose in the small features and deep eyes of a mortal little girl.

He looked away. He was going to suffer in that watch forever. His only way out had been with those eyes and that beating heart and he couldn't do it, he couldn't damn her no matter how she had ruined his afterlife, and continued to ruin his afterlife without even knowing it.

And everyone called _him _destructive.

"Beej."

His heart stuttered in his chest and he was certain for a moment that it may start again.

"Lydia," He gulped her name, trying to gain enough control over himself. This revelation only hurt him more, because if he cared for her this much he could never touch her, never have her. He was proud of himself for making a decision that benifieted someone else, he was in pain from her being so near, and he could feel her heartbeat echoing through his hollow chest. The next two words would have killed him.

"Kiss me."

She didn't even realize it was a command, she merely whispered it as she craned her neck upwards, her lips parted and her breath hot. And all Beetlejuice could think was that he was going to lose her to that horrid hell.

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**It's so awkward not talking to my reviewers down here, but really I do, I PM most of you just because you're all so fabulous I just end up wanting to say so much! **

**I try to respond to all of you but if I forget someone, as I am wont to do, please feel free to beat me with a shovel. Not too hard or you'll never learn what happens next! **

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	11. Chapter 11

**Okay this is un-beta'ed so bite me on any and all spelling such. I know terrible thing for an English Major to say, but I really really really love where this is going and I wanted to hear what you all thought and couldn't wait a moment more once I'd writen it...**

** OH! There are two numbers, those are just little notes I made, cause I wasn't sure everyone would get it and then on one of them it's a cool science thing so yeah.**

** Written to Ponimyesh by Toneva **

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Which makes no sense unless you know I'm learning (badly) Russian and our teacher let us steal some of his music so I've been piping Russian music in hopes it helps with my accent. Funny story people say I sound like I'm trying to speak French when I talk in Russian. I didn't think it possible but yeah. 'tis what they say.  
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She felt power flood through her and was nearly swept up in it. It was like a great wave of power that passed through her as though she were nothing, and she could _feel _it crash into the Ghost who still cradled her in his arms. The hair at the nape of her neck stood on end and she felt as though her flesh was the only thing keeping her together and it wasn't doing a very good job. 

Her world dimmed and her sense of hearing dulled as though cotton had been stuffed into her ears. Beetlejuice was holding her still, his strong arms trembling with the exertion as he drew more and more and more power to him, filling himself to the brim with it. His flesh was glowing faintly, sparking like wintergreen crystals.(1) He was clinging to her so tightly it hurt and it took her a moment to fear for him rather than her.

If she didn't know better she would fear for his life. And then she recalled the Maitlands, aging before eyes, glowing green and turning to dust as they tried to cling to each other. She had learned later what had really been happening, it had been an exorcism and Adam's words rang now in her ears as though he'd just spoken them.

_It's Death for the Dead._

Her eyes burned and her throat was too tight and it took her several long moment to realize it was because she was going to cry. She was so scared she was gripping the dead man as tightly as he held her and she was going to cry because suddenly it was very possible and very realistic that she was going to lose him.

_And she didn't know what to do. _ The last time she had almost lost a ghostly friend of hers she had turned to Beetlejuice, the Ghost with the Most, the one who could do anything, and now it was him that was in trouble and she wasn't certain whom she _could _turn to, and that scared her just as much as the thought of losing him forever.

Somewhere something pulled much too tight snapped and there was a discordant sound that echoed through her very soul. She wasn't certain she even heard it with her ears at all. Heat and smoke and fire filled the small room and Lydia thought it would consume her, surely this was Death. That never used to scare her but if whatever was causing this was powerful enough to hurt even Beetlejuice--and she could feel his pain in the rigid way he held her--than god only knew what could happen to her.

Then,_ nothing_.

The heat was gone, as was the fire, and the too-much-power, and the weight on her chest, and the Ghost whom she loved...and her couch.

She was lying on the floor in a pile of ashes--she hadn't even realized she fell--that used to be her couch and Juno stood before her, glimmering slightly and looking more angry than Lydia could ever remember _anyone _being. The corners of her mouth twisted downward violently, her eyes were dark and hard and the gash in her throat hung open and angry, gushing out smoke as she sucked her trademark cigarette into oblivion.

"You've been playing with fire Lydia Deetz. Fire and _brimstone! _I don't know what you were _thinking!_" She didn't need to raise her voice to sound angry. The dark and cold voice chilled Lydia to her bones as much as she had been warmed a moment before.

"Juno--" Lydia started, unsure of how to defend herself. She highly doubted "I fell in love with him" would help. In fact, it would probably only make things worse. If they could get worse.

"Don't. Don't even start with me! You _haven't _been thinking! That's the problem with you!" The small woman stormed to the other side of the room, away from Lydia who was covered in ashes still. "You nearly damned yourself too falling for that act he put on!" She sighed heavily and almost looked remorseful for a moment. "You are supposed to be smarter than that Lydia. They trusted you with the responsibility of taking care of him. Though I suppose we really should have taken care of him ourselves, but no. They wanted to keep him around, in case they needed a ghost with such power. Too dangerous. I guess they fell for it too."

"What do you mean, "Take care of him?" There was a finality to the phrase that reminded Lydia of her previous worries, and magnified them now that he wasn't here beside her. Juno looked up from her thinking.

"There has to be a meeting of the Parliament but they are going to exorcise him. Finally. If you ask me they should have done it in the first place, I told them that. They'll let him speak in his own defense of course, but that's just a formality, it isn't as though there is anything he can say to make up for the centuries he's tortured and tormented the living. And this little display!" Juno made a noise of disapproval and shook her head. Lydia felt the blood drain out of her face and wondered for a moment if her legs would even hold her.

"Exorcised." She finally breathed, her hand hitting the table beside her as she sagged. It used to be the side-table to the couch, but now it was all that was between her and falling.

"About time. Look I'm sure he made you fall in love with him, lying is all he does well, but it was all lies Lydia. It is for the best."

"Wh--what happened? I...we were..." She stopped and flushed, Juno was mad enough, she didn't need to know that Lydia had told Beetlejuice she loved him and tried to kiss him.

"Lydia, the only reason he tried to get you to fall in love with him, was because a kiss of true love could free him, and in the process would lock you in the Watch in his place. I don't know what happened, but for some reason a command you issued was distasteful enough that he fought it. He drew power to him like a shield, trying to fight the power of the watch. He proved that nothing, nothing we come up with, will ever hold him, and more sever actions need to be taken. I suppose for that I should thank you." Juno actually had the gall to smile.

Lydia didn't notice however, her mind was a mess of thoughts. Thoughts about the almost kiss. Thoughts about why he would fight it if it would set him free. Thoughts about never seeing him again, about knowing he was dead again, doomed for all eternity into a worse hell than ever because of her.

Juno patted her shoulder softly, and Lydia was surprised for an instant that the other woman would offer comfort, it was obvious she hated Beetlejuice, what would she care if Lydia was stupid enough to love him? "He won't bother you ever again Lydia, there's no need to worry anymore. It was cruel of them to saddle you with such a responsibility, and I apologize for it." Juno said.

And as kind as she was trying to be it only served to make Lydia furious with her. But Lydia kept her mouth shut and just stared as Juno walked past the couch, made a remark about getting her a new one, and then vanished in eddies of smoke and ashes.

In two hours Lydia had tossed a few clothes into a suitcase that may have actually been Grace's, left a short note that more resembled a squiggle and was on the highway heading to Winter River and her home.

She wasn't going to let Beetlejuice _die._ He had saved the Maitlands and she had screwed him over and previously she had thought there was no way she could make that up to him, but now she had a plan that might make reparations for the sin she had committed as a child. She recalled the first real conversation she had with him.

She recalled his dangerous eyes and his teeth as they seemed to show at every word. And she recalled accusing him of not giving her a choice. She had accused him when it had been her who was guilty and he had murmured, warm and thick that voice had sent shivers up her spine before she even knew she cared for him as much as she did.

_It may not be a good choice Lyds, _She shivered just recalling the way he said it. _But it was a choice._

She had to make a considerable effort as she drove, she was shaking like a leaf in a rainstorm and it took all her effort not to swerve off the road. Driving had never been hard for her, she had Grace had learned from Grace's father, he was a mechanic, and he'd taught them well, but the first rule was never drive emotional.

She supposed this counted with those life-or-death situations that were always the exception to the rule, but then again, it really was more like death or really dead. All the same if she explained the specifics to him she was certain he would understand.

She laughed, giddy and hysteric all at once.

She cried the last three hundred miles to her house on the hill.

The lights were all off, the red numbers on her dashboard told her why. It was so late it was early, she would wake her parents, the Maitlands may be awake. They had long since learned that sleeping was unnecessary though it did serve to kill time.

It was a toss up but even if they were asleep she needed to wake them. This was the moment and she couldn't turn back. She was just praying that she wasn't too late no matter how much time had been lost driving so long as she had.

She shut off her headlights after passing the bridge and if she didn't live up on the hill she would have popped the car into neutral as well. It made very little sound on the gravel as it was. She parked around the back and entered through the downstairs kitchen (2). She tucked her shoes in the small entryway and padded quietly through the house. The Maitlands usually retired to the attic when the family was asleep, in case the two wanted to stay up. They had lived there unnoticed for so long it worked well.

When Barbara opened the door Lydia collapsed into her arms, sobbing dryly and brokenly as the entire story spilled out, starting from that day in the bank and all the way until Juno telling her that she should get a new couch to replace the one Beetlejuice had inadvertently torched.

Adam paced around the room while Barbara cradled the crying young woman on the covered couch.

Lydia had asked once why they kept it covered like they were painting in here. In answer Barbara had lifted up the corner to reveal a small section of hideous fabric stapled badly in place. "Adam tried to reupholster it for me." Lydia had laughed at the cowed look Adam adopted.

Now she treated the ugly couch as an anchor and she felt like she might wash away for all the tears she had cried, and when she told Barbara and Adam what she planned to do--minus a few of the more objectionable details--she relished that for as angry and scared and worried and all the other things they were at or for her, in their hearts, they loved her and wanted nothing more than to help her.

Provided she go downstairs, eat something warm, and sleep.

They assured her that they knew how things worked on that side and for how time moved she had plenty of time to collect herself. They didn't wholly believe it, but she would only drive herself to death if she kept on the way she was going.

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1 -- okay, go in a dark room with a stick of wintergreen gum, any brand but it has to have the little crystals in it. shut off all the lights, so there's as little light as possible and then look into a mirror (I suggest a bathroom) now with your lips pulled back so you can see into your mouth, chew the gum, there's these little sparks! Really cool! Anyway that's just a neat thing I had to share. 

2-- If you watch, like the nerdlinger I am, there are two kitchens. Lucky stiffs.

**Inthearmynow -- **No need to beg, I know this took a bit of time but it's here now! I am so so so excited about the fanart! (I'm terribly jealous of people who can draw!) But the link didn't show cause fanfiction can be evil like that. I've tons of ways to contact me in my profile if you don't mind I really want to see it! So just pick whatever way is easiest for you! If you don't mind of course. I'm glad you like the story so much and I finished this chapter just for you, mostly as a hokey way of thanking you for fanart! Like I said I am wholly incapable of anything artistic (unless you count writing as an art!) so I'm always amazed at people with skill!


	12. Chapter 12

**OKay this is terribly short by my standards, but like when he told about his life, I wanted you to focus only on what happened here, and there will be so much that happens in the following chapters I needed a short chapter to set the scene perfectly. I've given you--with this chapter--all the hints and foreshadowing you need to KNOW what will happen, but if you don't hunt them all down, the surprise of it -- hopefully -- will be extrodinarily fun.**

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She hadn't honestly thought she would be able to find it. Maybe Saint Isidore(1) had taken a moment to smile at her. Sometimes the Internet offered nothing but pop-ups and porn but this time, she found what she wanted, she found it quickly and for several long moments stared, stunned, at the image her computer displayed. 

Even in the computer image of it you could see the chunks of paint that clung to the rough canvas.

The painting clearly had the feel of a window, or a balcony from a tall building, a voyuer looking out over the crowd that cried out for blood.

The city square was surrounded on two sides by big tall buildings of marble and gargoyles and then the ocean, large and smooth and gray, gray like the sky which was dark and angry like a bruise. No people seemed to mourn the man who would hang that day, so the angels wept for him in heaven.

She could smell salt and rain just looking at it.

The people all wore bright colors, desperate to soak the enjoyment they could from life, having lived through the terrible horror that was the plague. Women wore dresses of pink and green and red and gold and men matched their ladies.

Banners hung all around, still and limp in a breeze that would not come, and a platform to her left was red and gold and elegant and she could guess people of great importance sat there, watching the goings on as though they were above it. And they were in their time she supposed.

And there in the center of the square was the platform, hastily assembled from big planks of wood that didn't quite match. The hangman stood huge and looming and with the black cowl pulled over his head and the shirt-without-sleeves he looked like something from a nightmare. You could not see his face, but you could tell it was hard and angry, set as stone.

And Lydia's eyes found the subject of the painting and everything around her froze for that moment in time, and there was a second that she thought maybe her heart _wouldn't _start again. But it thudded dully in her chest and she took a shaky breath and stared.

He didn't look like Beetlejuice, not really, but you could tell it was him. His blond hair was wild and ruffled, the wind dancing with him and not the limp banners that hung 'round the square. His skin was pale. She knew his grin. How had anyone captured it on paper, she could not say, but that grin, rakish and matched by the look in his eyes. A rogue through and through and she felt her chest tighten and tears press at her eyes.

What she would give to see that smile again. She felt for a moment a kinship with him, as though she stood in the empty cart that had transported him to this terrible place of festivity. As though she would hang right beside him.

He was clad in gray clothes that hung off his gaunt frame in tatters and rotten fruit lay scattered about his feet, having landed there after striking him she could only suppose.

Still he smiled, and she could see the swagger in his gait. Proud to the end. So sure and confident and above it all!

But his eyes were what struck her. Looking at the painter over one high shoulder. They were filled with fear and doubt.

_  
What did I do to deserve this?_

_Save me!_

_Oh _God!

_I am going to die. I lived through so much death and now I die?_

Her heart felt like spun glass and as she fell into those green, green eyes she felt it shatter, turning to fine powder all because of that desperate look.

Tears spilled over when she blinked, running hot down both cheeks and she heard one make a soft sound against the plastic of her keyboard while the other hit the back of her hand. More followed, hot and cool and slow and fast and she tried to keep quiet at she swam in the look in his eyes.

She could hear the jeering crowd and maybe a few sea-birds and she could see the heavy-rusted shackles that hung from his wrists and dragged about his feet. They would drag him down when the noose was around his neck and the floor was gone.

Still though, she doubted his death would be painless. She doubted his neck would snap, that was no fun for this crowd and she wouldn't put it past them to slow the opening door.

Let him swing.

Watch his feet kicking as he tries to walk on air.

His face turning blue _pearl-colored pale and shimmering._

Her heart lurched in her chest and she struggled for a moment to look away. She felt like she was intruding on a moment that should be private. Her heart was shattering for the man in the painting and she wanted nothing more than to remove the shackles and sooth the angry red flesh beneath, to dress him in the familiar suits she knew so well and to be held by him.

She felt as terrible as the people in the painting were. She should not be intruding on his death, it should be quiet and private if it was to be so terrible. Was there no one in the crowd who would cry for this man? Mourn his passing? Leave flowers at his grave.

Her eyes, wondering everywhere just so she didn't have to watch him be lead to the gallows fell on the title. The small paragraph beneath which talked about the painter, the painting, and gave the title.

A man's name.

Beetlejuice's name. She managed a wavering and watery smile and ran her fingers over the screen, as though she could feel the letters that made it up, and unbidden her pale fingers slid up and ran over his figure, so proud and cocksure even if his eyes screamed for help.

I love you.

She mouthed the words as though the man in the painting could hear her, and may take comfort in the words.

The man in the painting didn't hear her, but the ghost, somewhere very far away would. She would be sure of it.

His name was now a golden bell, hanging in her heart and she would gladly break her body to pieces just to call him once by name

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**1 -- ** Patron saint of--I shit you not--computers, computer programmers, computer users, and the Internet.

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**Inthearmynow -- **Yay! Sorry I do just really adore fanart! I only have had one person do it ever before, but I printed it off with the last of my ink and hung it over my desk so I can see it whenever I write! I'd add a little heart here but fanfiction took those away from us so...I know! I like Juno a lot actually but I really needed a face to the big bad afterlife so Juno's gotten the brunt of it. :) Poor thing. Oooh but Lydia has a plan...dunno if you'll like it when I get to it though... 


	13. Chapter 13

**I still lack ownership of the most fundimental things in this story.

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There had--of course--been a flurry of activity when her father and Delia found out Lydia had come for an impromptu visit. Her father was cooking a pie, something he'd learned to do, supposedly cooking relaxed you. He wanted to celebrate her coming home, she didn't have the heart to tell him that she hated cherries.

Eventually the idyllic setting had to be shattered, it wasn't their way and there was news to be shared, like _why _Lydia had dropped everything early one morning and nearly killed her car speeding out here as quick as she could. When they heard the story of what Lydia had been doing as of late, there was a flurry of screaming--_May I remind you he tried to kill me! _Crying to Barbara and Adam had been necessary, she needed someone to talk to, but every time she tried to glaze over something, spare Delia and her father the truth, in they would pipe telling what they knew.

_He tried to marry you against your will._

_He saved you two though._

_He still tried to marry you._

_I promised him I would. _

_He sent Barbara to Saturn._

_He saved her from a fate worse than death._

Things calmed down eventually, Delia rather missed him, the sculpture of him had taken the art-world by storm. And Adam and Barbara had a a while to think over and know that all they wanted was for Lydia to be happy. Her father eventually calmed down because he loved Lydia. Her happiness mattered and so long as he wasn't dropped from a second-story _ever _again he would be fine. Besides, he was going to be exorcised how much trouble could it be if Lydia had a crush on him, _only because he'd tricked her._

_That _peace lasted all of a minute and fourteen seconds. She timed it. Because after a minute of peace she opened her mouth and asked Adam and Barbara to take her to the Afterlife to plead for Beetlejuice's case, she wanted to save him.

_It is the least I can do for him._

She felt remotely guilty for lying until all four people--dead or otherwise--started shouting again and then she was grateful she lied.

The shouting had to die down eventually.

Barbara and Adam spoiled her and Delia, though kinder and softer now was still out for herself and her art and nothing else. Beetlejuice was a wealth of strange things and so a wealth of inspiration. After much discussion they felt it could do no harm if Lydia went, and over her head they were all winking and nudging each other. It was not like they would ever _free _Beetlejuice now that they had him and Lydia was still just a child--in their eyes.

It was a fleeting fascination that she would soon overcome and then they would all be the big heroes because they had allowed her to follow a childish fantasy no matter where it took her.

Furthermore her father trusted Barbara and Adam, they were calm and sweet and soft and contrasted greatly with Delia and Charles loved his daughter but preferred long days of sitting in the sun clipping coupons he didn't need. Worrying about boys and grades was not something he was keen on doing.

So Lydia changed--she realized she was still wearing the same clothes from the night of wine and chocolate and heat and silk.

She had slept only when it was absolutely required and now that was catching up with her. She showered quickly and ate some pie to comfort her father and followed Barbara and Adam to the attic, and through the door.

the door lead straight to Juno's office this time, they had finally gotten through the whole manual and knew how to make appointments and use their vouchers. Juno pitied Lydia, feeling bad that the mortal had a _crush _on such a rogue of a ghost, and of course she could say goodbye but the trial was a formality, there was no hope for the ghost.

_But he's to be exorcised right?_

Of course he was. They were confused about her question, but none of them knew. She had been smart enough not to share her plan, to say goodbye and I love you to her father and Delia.

Lydia was angry, somewhere deep down, that they called her feelings a mere crush, but it helped her so she was quiet. Now was not the time to argue that she was in love, that whether he loved her or not was a moot point, that she didn't care if he was evil or stupid or disgusting, she loved him for him and that was all there was to it.

Adam and Barbara couldn't come in, it would be difficult enough to sneak Lydia in the back but two ghosts as well, that was too much even for Juno.

"We'll see you when you get back Lydia-dear okay?" Barbara said with a smile and a warm hug that smelled of dust and sunlight.

"I've been working on my Model, you'll have to see it." Adam told her. And Lydia nearly cried as she hugged him as tightly as she could manage.

"I love you both." She told them seriously. "I couldn't love you more even if you were my real parents." She turned on her heel and stalked after Juno, waiting until she'd rounded a corner before scrubbing at her eyes uselessly and drawing a deep and shuddering breath. Juno started at her with hard brown eyes, and then looked away.

"Don't do anything stupid."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Juno actually laughed, it was sharp and filled the hall and nearly scared Lydia out of her wits but it was, in fact, a laugh. "You sound a lot like him." A beat. "You remind me of him, when he was young still and had faith in the system over himself." She sighed heavily and stopped so suddenly Lydia slammed into her back. "You might have done him good. But it is too late for that now." And somewhere in the back of her mind Lydia regretted hating Juno. She wasn't so bad, she was just set in her ways and disappointed in the Ghost she had tried to train.

Suddenly Lydia had the image of a mother who had raised her son only to have him spit in her face and put her in a home. A part of her loved him yet, for all the pain he caused.

Back in the small dorm room, a lifetime and several hundred miles away Grace returned from sleeping on a friend's sofa watching movies and struggling with the intricacies of Swedish grammar. She was not surprised to find neither hide nor hair of Lydia or her Ghostly friend, she hoped the two had straightened things out, since they certainly hadn't straightened up.

Several things occurred to her at once, each making her worry more than the last.

Their couch was a pile of ashes, with footprints leading around it and fading away.

The air was heavy and dark and reeked of that strange burning-air smell, it reminded her of a science experiment where the teacher had lit pure oxygen on fire.

She found the note then and her heart jumped into her throat and fell into her shoes all at once as she read it over. She read it again, and a third time, praying for the first time in five years, desperate that the words would switch around and that this wasn't true.

_Gracie. _

_Wish I could say goodbye, but I have to hurry. They're going to kill him Gracie, kill him for good. Gotta go k? I love you to bits, enjoy the single room._

There was her signature with a little heart next to it.

But Grace never made it passed "enjoy the single room." Lydia had told her that you could save a ghost from Exorcism by giving your soul in turn. Lydia was going to die for that dead guy and Grace didn't know if he would even appreciate it.

But that wasn't what mattered, she realized slowly. Lydia loved him, and she may as well be dead if she was forced to live in a world without him. Grace had to respect that.

But for now she hobbled into her room, clung to the cane he had given her and cried longer and harder than ever before in her life.

She wasn't one for crying. She was one for moving on and getting over it, enjoying life while you could. But now she knew there was an afterlife so death wasn't so scary, but Lydia wouldn't get that comfort, she would suffer.

That was what you did if you were dead without a soul right? Wailed and moaned and drifted for eternity until...until you were gone.

It was scary to know for sure, and despite what Hamlet had said so long ago the knowing was much worse and more terrifying than the not knowing. Grace knew that now.

She cried herself to sleep and when she woke, she would probably cry some more.

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** The next chapter will come soon whether I want it to or not. I'm addicted to writing this there's no hiding it, but I'm not above beggin for reviews.**


	14. Chapter 14

**I tried to grammar check this, but I was so excited about seeing this posted, I really just couldn't wait. Hope you feel better WitchyWanda! Maybe this will help? **

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The doors were large and oak and covered with scenes of Dante's Inferno. They swung open at a feather-light touch from Juno. Silence. 

The courtroom was surprisingly normal-looking in some respects, and incredibly alien in others. There was a big podium that the judge—she could only assume—sat behind. His face was blue and there was a large hole in the side of his head.

There was no jury, but there was a collection of people who sat on long benches between where she and Juno stood and the judge. Spectators! She hated them all with a violence that surprised and scared her. Juno put a tiny had at the small of Lydia's back and seemed so large and strong suddenly. Lydia's legs were jelly and she felt her breath hitch at every turn.

Beetlejuice knelt between the audience and the judge, large chains around his wrists and neck kept him near the ground, his head bent in forced submission. Her heart broke in her breast as she took in the scene and though of how similar it was to his death. She wished she could hug him and shower him with kisses and give him a moment to be weak.

The bell of his name shivered in her heart and she spun on Juno, eyes wide and deseperate. If anyone asked later—they didn't—she could not tell them where she continued to draw strength from. She felt like her reserves of strength were an empty well, yet the bucket always came up full if she drew it.

"You won't say, but you know he'll die today." Lydia whispered, not wanting to disturb the court. She feared that if she spoke any louder her terror would be evident and Juno would make her leave before she could be of any help.

"Yes." Juno actually sounded defeated.

Lydia gulped. "May I say goodbye?" Juno looked for a moment as though she would say "no." Lydia was quick to leap to her own defense. "You think it's a silly girl's stupid dream _fine_ but don't say I can see him and not let me tell him goodbye." Juno sighed heavily and rolled her eyes.

"Fine." She pointed with three fingers, smoldering cigarette trailing smoke. It hung precariously between two of her longest fingers. "Stay here. Let me talk to the Executioner."

Lydia's bruised and battered heart fell into her shoes at that word. She had been wrong to assume him a Judge. He would be the one to end Beetlejuice's life...Fresh tears sprung to her eyes, and she was impressed there was anything wet left within her. She must have cried an ocean these last few days, more than she had in all her life put together.

Juno walked up to the man behind the podium and spoke in soft tones that everyone strained to hear. Everyone but the Ghost with the Most. Her heart—already splintered to pieces—managed to crack again. He was so beaten, tired, and sad.

His shoulders slumped and curled around himself, and his head hung, eyes on the floor in front of him. He didn't even twitch at the sound of Juno's aged pumps on the marble floor. He didn't even know Lydia stood back here. Stood ready to sacrifice everything for the only thing that mattered more.

She swallowed a sob and scrubbed desperately at her eyes, she would meet him with dry eyes. She would be the brave savior this time. Juno and the Executioner argued quietly for several long moments and then Juno turned to face Lydia, and for the first time in an eternity she dared to _hope._

Juno motioned with her hand, twitching fingers, that Lydia could come forward, and that was all it took.

She ran as fast as she could, slipping and sliding on the old floors. She nearly tripped and then she stood in front of the Ghost she loved. He glanced up through his bangs then and Lydia started to cry. His head snapped up, their eyes met.

The painting had not done his eyes justice, sad and hopeful and hopeless all at once. Tortured and scared, all tinted green.

She fell to her knees so hard they would turn yellow she knew, and she threw her arms around his neck and her face buried hard into the soft—cold—flesh where he neck met his shoulder, her face struck hard against the metal there. Still, she may have worried about injuring him if he were anyone else other than Beetlejuice.

She was coughing and sobbing, openly and loud and it took her a moment to realize he was trembling with the effort it took to move the heavy chains enough to allow him to hold her back. She cried all the harder and pulled herself closer to him.

She could have died of happiness right there, or of sadness. She pitched back on her heels so she could look into his face and was startled by the way he stared, _drinking her in_, as though dedicating every curve of her face and tint of her eyes to memory.

"Lydia." A prayer on his lips. She smiled and kissed him, hard on the lips. Their teeth knocked together and he could taste the tears on her lips. So hot against his cold flesh, he could not tell if the heat was in her tears or her skin.

"I love you." She whispered, desperate and crying and smiling all the same. "I love _you." _She wanted him to understand, she begged him with large and liquid brown eyes. _Understand me. _

She twisted, not standing, Beetlejuice's arms still around her waist, still shaking. "This is an exorcism right?" She asked the Executioner, and he nodded once. "Then I substitute myself. A soul for a soul right? That's how it works."

"**_What_**?" She didn't know who shouted louder, Beetlejuice or Juno. His arms tightened painfully around her hips. There would be marks there to match the ones on her knees. Well—she laughed giddily through her tears, bruises—not like she was going to live. She relished the feeling of his amrs around her though, even as she winced at the feeling.

"No!_ No! _ I won't let her!" His wild-eyes flicked from the Executioner to her, his voice dropped, a private whisper between only those two. "Lydia go home. I don't care for you, I wanted out of the Watch, I wanted free! I was using you." He babbled. He wasn't yelling, but he was angry and scared all at once, she could tell.

She smiled softly, and tilted her head. They were the only two people in the world, _in either world_. And she loved him. "I love you. I told you that." She reminded him, cupping his cheek in one hand. She had never seen him look so vulnerable, nor so confused.

"No you don't! I just tricked you into loving me, the kiss was worthless if there wasn't love in it!" He explained, desperate for her to understand. Desperate for her to _change her mind._

Why would she give up her life for him?

"I love you, whether you tricked me into it or not. I love you, all of you, even the part that was using me. It doesn't matter if you love me back or even remember my name in eight months Beej, I _love _you and I cannot live in a world without you. I can save you. You said so yourself. So, I will." The not-judge's gavel banged on the desk before him. She offered Beetlejuice a small, honest smile.

"Your say has nothing to do with it _monster._ If the girl wants to die for you that's her choice." He was addressing Beetlejuice and ignoring Juno who stood at his side explaining that Lydia didn't know what she was talking about—foolish mortal, child—but he stared at her and she stared at him. "Your soul will die and he will go free. Punishment will follow but he will live for now." The man explained. To the girl who would die, and the ghost who would live, and to the whole of the room.

Lydia turned to Beetlejuice who was mouthing "no" over and over again and shaking his head softly. He would give anything to have his powers back, just for a moment. A moment was all it would take and he could save her and have an eternity to come to terms with the fact that he'd somehow fallen in love with this mortal girl.

She kissed him softly this time, but their noses still bumped, and she kissed his cheek and his temple and his ear. And when her lips brushed his ear she broke all to pieces and all that was left was pain and his name, soft and breathy in his ear, stirring wild blond hair and followed by a shriek cut short as the process began to strip her of her mortality and then her soul.

Her death would hurt, her exorcism would hurt more.

She sneezed.


	15. Chapter 15

**Angry!Beetlejuice ahoy. There you heartless wench you have my new chapter, when do we get to see chapter 8? Unbeta'd because...I should do my russian Homework. I probably won't mind you, but right now I have every intention of doing it.  
**

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When she had commanded him--without meaning to actually _command_--he had been horrified. Very quickly he came the to realization that he couldn't let Lydia suffer like that. When she spoke those two terrible words he'd fought the command with everything he could muster. He'd drawn power from anywhere he could find it, filling every nook and cranny in his body, the spiritual equivalent of digging his heels into the sand. 

He shouldn't have been able to fight it at all, they were right to fear him now. And he had resigned himself to _Death _eternal. He was ready to do it so Lydia could live because he loved that stupid mortal girl and couldn't stand himself if he allowed her to suffer the fate he hated so very much.

He'd been on the floor, chained by iron. Iron could hold him if he hadn't a scrap of power, and in this room of marble and oak he had no power, none at all. He hung his head, struggling to keep it up despite the weight of the chains.

And then his world had shattered because forget suffering Lydia was going to die, and die again and suffer for eternity in that half-existence of Lost Souls.

He almost didn't hear her whisper his name. His _true name_. He remembered it the moment she said it and could _feel_ the walls around his power burst into dust and the chains didn't matter anymore. Juno gasped, dropping her cigarette. The Executioner paled, and people behind him started screaming. Lydia was dying, he could feel it, and he grinned in a more feral manner than anyone had ever seen.

He was a tiger, caught in the wild, caged, and tortured, and now he was out and had a whole zoo of people to exact revenge upon.

But his suffering was a drop in the bucket. Lydia was screaming, not with her voice, she couldn't manage that for all the pain she was in, her whole being was screaming, and he could feel it, ripples in a pond.

"Beetlejuice." Juno whispered, staring at him in complete and abject horror. She had never seen him completely unbound, without an ounce of restraint on his powers, and she had never seen him give a damn about anyone else.

And here he was, in love with a mortal in so much pain the feeling was palpable to anyone in the room, and when she opened her eyes wider, and tried to see the true extent of his power. Light blinded her, pulsing undulating light that slithered and moved about the room and she had to look away.

Lydia whimpered and writhed on the floor, her body dying all around her, and Beetlejuice growled, low in his throat and loud enough that everyone in the room winced, clamping hands to their ears. He was at her side in a moment and Juno did not know if love or magic propelled him. Her skin was a sickly yellow color, pallid and covered with a sheen of sweat.

People naturally did not want to die and their bodies fought it, not that it wasn't painful enough as it was.

His fingers brushed her skin and power skipped from him to her. Tiny burn marks appeared where the power entered her, burning her flesh outwardly and saving her life inwardly. She _glowed. _Her skin shimmered and glowed with the power that the desperate ghost was pouring into her. Using a cannon to kill a mosquito. That was his way she supposed.

Lydia would forever be infused with a part of him and a piece of his power, you could see it even now and even without dropping into that other plane to see the power. She hummed with it.

She was a mortal and her body would hoard the power until she died, but there would be signs that she was more than those around her. She might be a bit faster to react that other people, or maybe she would just cook really well. Or people would instinctivly trust her.

Juno would only realize that later though, despite being able to _feel _the power Lydia gave off. For right now, Juno was horrified...she was scared, genuinely terrified beyond any emotion she had felt in the entirety of her life.

She couldn't even die and she was scared because here was a ghost with untold power, and a _cause_ to fight for. And want cause could inspire men more than Love? She did not know what he would do now, he had the woman he obviously loved--a thought that still surprised her. She remembered the ghost who had come to her, not ready to move on, wanting to do more, and when he came up against the rules of the world he'd dedicated himself to, he turned and found another way.

Bio-exocist, causing her trouble and paperwork and nothing but worry.

Even a sweet and confused couple like the Maitlands had freed him, wanting to have their life back because so few people were ready for death. They had let him out and known he was bad and they'd tried to put him away, but he was stubborn if nothing else and could not be deterred when he made a choice.

And then he laid eyes on Lydia, a scared little girl who had seen the confused couple, and found a mother and father who _cared _for her and _loved _her. Of course she would want to crossover and be with them!

And Beetlejuice had taken advantage of that.

And then she had been put in change of his new prison--they thought she would _know_ better than to free him. She had!

For all the things stacked against them they had fallen in love. For all the terror Juno felt, there was a part of her that was happy for them, a part of her that still saw Beetlejuice as an apprentice who was willing to work hard to learn what he wanted to know.

There was a crash of thunder that knocked her to the ground and spilled several people out of their seats, and when the screaming and terror stopped, Beetlejuice and his mortal lover were gone and all that was left was a large crater in the center of the room.

Juno let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding and turned to the Executioner. "There is no stopping him now." He glared down at her.

"We should not have waited, we gave him chance after chance for redemption on _your _word that he was an asset to us, and now he's out there with his true name and a _living person_. He is a demon, nothing more, and whatever he does will be on _your _head Juno." He hissed darkly and Juno remembered a distant time when that would have scared her. Just that morning it might have, but now she turned to the hole and smiled softly to herself, not bothering to pick up the still smoldering cigarette at her feet.

"You are wrong Simon." She sighed, shaking her head softly and feeling infinitely old. Beside her Simon spluttered.

"What do you think that was?" She asked, surprised he could not see it. "Not the part where he was furious, not the part where he severed all his ties---" She could feel it, he was not a part of their world anymore and he would not come back ever again. He had cleared the records of his name and wiped memories clean, he was well and truly free. "--before, when a mortal girl held him and cried and offered to die in his place. To give up the rest of her mortal life, and all of her after life just so he could continue to live. What do you think that was?" She asked him, and this was why she had left him, left his world and gone into Case Work. He could not see the forest for the want to exorcise everyone who dared think differently than him.

"What was it Juno?" He asked and in his dead voice she heard none of the passion he used to hold for her. She did not morn losing him and leaving him. She had left him because he would never have loved her as much as she could see that Beetlejuice had loved Lydia. She and Simon had almost two hundred years together, and the two who just left? Maybe a day total.

_And their love was so pure and powerful. _Juno exhaled and later she would shed a tear for what she had wanted and what she had lost and all the things she never had. Simon still could not see it, and so she sighed heavily and looked at him with sad eyes.

"It was redemption."

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**There is more to come.  
**

** And those of you who still don't get the sneeze at the end of the last chapter, feel free to say so in your review and I'll explain it to you. I like to think you all get it, but I know a few people didn't and a lot of you didn't review...so your hint is to re-read chapter two and other than that...ask.**

**I love you ALL  
**


	16. Chapter 16

**The last chapter. I hope you enjoy.**

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Everything ached dully. It felt as though she had gone to sleep after running a marathon. She struggled for a moment to sit up and then realized that she was in her dorm room. Which was confusing until she coupled it with all the other things that had been happening to her as of late. Then she realized that Beetlejuice was sitting at the foot of her bed, his shoulders slumped, his head in his hands, and his back to her. Despite what she'd been through this was odd. She opened her mouth, tried to say something, and managed a weak cough. She could have sworn she only blinked but suddenly he was at her side, a hand barely brushing her shoulder. 

"Don't rush it, you nearly died Lyds." He told her with a half-smile that was supposed to belay the weakness he felt. Lydia could not help matching it with a smile of her own, though hers was in confusion.

"What happened?" She asked, her voice only slightly craggy. He offered her a glass of water that appeared out of no where in particular and explained the repercussions of her telling him his true name. She in turn admitted that she had known none of that, in fact she had only wanted him to know it because she thought it was terrible he _didn't _know.

She asked if he was in trouble and he waggled his eyebrows at her, his grin more sure now that she wasn't so pale and still and quiet. "Babes, I _am _trouble." She laughed then and even though it caused a coughing fit and it was a bit jagged it was the most wonderful sound he'd ever heard in his afterlife. It was no mask, and it wasn't saying something he had no words for. When he smiled listening to that beautiful sound it was a smile of pure joy.

Lydia kicked the sheets of her legs, still in the same jeans she had been wearing since drinking all that wine with him a long time ago. But her clothes and even how she looked, none of it mattered because she was alive and he was alive--or as alive as he could be--and he was out of that horrible watch-prison and for the first time in a long time everything was perfect and wonderful and lovely.

And in that smile of his, so unguarded and innocent, she could tell he loved her; she didn't need to hear it. She'd admit, it would be nice to hear him say it, but she loved him the way he was, he didn't need to change so much and tell her he cared, she was just amazed he loved her at all. She had been so certain he couldn't love, that her love--as strong as it was--was unrequited.

She reached out and touched his cheek and he started under her touch, nearly scaring her off. "You're really here." She whispered.

"Can't get rid of me now Babes. I'm free to do whatever I like." He sounded so cocky.

"Anything in the world?" She asked innocently.

"Not bound anymore. Not even Juno can stop me now." He told her.

"And you're sitting here with me?" If there had been any color in his face it would have drained away. She'd caught him, and that grin on her face told him she knew it as well as he did. He sighed in resignation and nodded against her hot palm.

"Yes, I am."

She shifted up onto her knees and leaned forward carefully tilting her head and kissing him softly, without tears, without desperation, and without trying to _prove _that she loved him before she died. Which--in point of fact--wasn't going to be in the next few moments any longer. That came second to the kiss though.

It is soft and a bit innocent at first, as though they are still afraid of being rejected. Then his hand curled around her neck and slid into her hair, pulling her closer. She lost her balance and he refused to relinquish his hold on her lips as she shifted, sitting so the side of her hip pressed hard against his back, she was balanced against him, and that said more than the kissing.

He was a tower of strength for her, he was where her surprising strength came from. Every time she had been scared, every time she had been confused, every time she had been weak she had touched the watch at her side. And when she hadn't the watch anymore she had thought how her death would save him, and how she could not be unsure because whatever she did it would save him. So what did it matter what happened to her?

He tasted like warmth, like honey and sugar and spice, and it startled her because he was decidedly _not warm. _He just tasted like it. His cool lips moved away from hers and she felt him against her cheek, and then the soft flesh just below her ear.

His free hand curled protectively around her waist and his fingers started when they found hot flesh instead of warm cloth. Her shirt had hiked up just enough for him to brush the soft skin of her back and she relished the touch, however tender it was.

He was so gentle with her, as though she would break. She turned her head, and pressed her lips to his neck, taking the cool flesh into her mouth and nipping at it. He went completely rigid and she pulled away so she could look into his eyes, large and wide and more green than words could describe. "I am not made of glass." She told him her eyes dark and her voice heady and low. It sounded like the wine she'd shared with him. Just like her, dark and rich with undercurrents of vanilla.

He flashed that feral grin at her, but there was no malice in his eyes, she could not fear him anymore as it was.

He twisted and she was lowered to the bed. His fingered tickled her sides, making her jump and twitch until she realized they were drawing shapes. It was hard to focus when his lips were doing the most wonderful things to her neck.

She tasted of vanilla and lavender and rich wines with just the barest whisper of dark chocolate. Bitter and sweet and he couldn't get enough of it.

Lydia could hardly focus on what his fingers were doing to the revealed flesh on her side when he was kissing the exposed line of her collar bone, but then it snapped into place with sudden clarity, hearts. His fingers were drawing tiny, repetitive hearts, and driving her to that place of blissful madness, the kind you only read about in books.

It was difficult to control all his power at once. He had never been completely unbound before and it was a new sensation to get used to, as was the willing mortal girl in his arms. He could feel her heartbeat against his lips and he wanted to drink it in, keep it in a dark corner of his memory forever.

_Thump-thump-thump-thump_

And it was even stranger to think that each beat was for him. She had been ready to die for him and now she lived for him and he could hear a confession of love in each heartbeat, in each hitched breath as he brushed bare skin. In every kiss.

When her tiny fingers started on the small buttons of his shirt he stared at her, stopping completely. "Lydia." Her name was dark on his tongue, dark and sensual and she felt her eyes flutter shut just listening to him. She could listen to him call her name like that for the rest of her life.

She looked at him with half-lidded eyes and ran her hands over his chest, it was like touching a statue but she could feel the soft hum as power rushed through him, and she could feel him flinch even at her feather-light touch.

He had meant to stop her. He had meant to ask her a thousand questions. Why did she love him so much? Did she really love him? She would really have died for him? How did she learn his name? Would she stay with him forever? Dying for him was one thing but living with him?

But she keened his name, his true name, like a kitten mewling and he was lost to her. All the power in the Afterlife and this mortal girl could command him with a sideways glance. He would do anything she asked of him for the rest of their lives.

Ghosts did not need to sleep, and so hours later he lay with her in his arms, watching her sleep. Listening to her breathe, her heart beat, and listening to her tell him she loved him in a thousand different ways.

She was beautiful, there was no lying, but he realized he would love her even if she wasn't, he would love her no matter how she looked, because it was the way she looked at him, the way she smiled just for him, and the way she made him feel like power and life and freedom didn't matter in the face of what he did have.

He held her heart and she held his.

And so he closed his eyes and listened to her say "I love you" without words.

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_ And so that is my story, of how I fell in love with a Ghost who did at one time try to drive my family away from our home and nearly killed my father and forced me into marrying him._

_You may wonder as you draw to the close of my tale what his True Name is, and I suppose you are right to wonder. But to me he will always be Beetlejuice, the Ghost I fell in love with against all odds._

_My Watchman._

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_**And they lived happily ever after.**_


End file.
